A Day in the Life
by Bowles
Summary: In an alternate universe without magic, a sarcastic store owner by the name of Bartimaeus hires an ambitious young man named Nathaniel and sets into motion a series of events neither of them could have foreseen. NatKitty
1. One

All right. It's been a while since I posted anything novel-length, so here we go again. This is already written and just needs to be edited, so a chapter should be posted about every week.

The basic premise is this - what would our characters be like in a world without magic? The characters are still similar to the characters we know in the series, although with some differences caused by the change in environment. This isn't a rewrite of AoS - there will be characters from throughout the trilogy, although the emphasis will be on AoS.

And I've said enough. I'm done. Pinky swear.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any characters in the trilogy, etc, etc. Hooray for Stroud.

* * *

One

-

The hustle and bustle of downtown London easily compared to the rush hour of any other European city. Prague? Not much going on there, really – the entire city seemed like it was stuck in a solemn funeral march. Paris? Perhaps, but somehow the lazy blur of French city life couldn't compare to the absolute chaos that was downtown London. Rome? A mixture of Paris and Prague, really – still quite hectic, but unable to disentangle itself from its lengthy history.

Me? Not too big on the city life, to tell the truth. I'm more of a country boy. (Well, I'm not really a boy by any stretch of the imagination, but you get the point.) Not that I've ever lived in the country. It just seems nice. Quaint. Quiet. And all those other alliterative words with similar connotations.

Naturally, given my distaste for modern life in downtown London, I lived right near the area. At the time this story began I was the owner of a small book store right across from Druid's, a popular coffeehouse. Of course, I've since moved on to bigger and better things, but it's always nice to remember where you came from. It keeps you humble. Of course, I have no problems with modesty, but still. You get the picture.

I kept five employees on staff besides myself – Anne Stephens, a fairly kind lady (although not always to me) who knew the contents of the store (and English labor law) better than I did; Jenkins (whose first name I have resolved never to use), an annoying young man who I only kept around because he made damn good coffee; George Ffoukes, a rather lazy man that I often caught dozing off on the job who I only kept around because he annoyed Jenkins; Eva, a young girl who came in after school and in the days during the summer to work the desk and often got into arguments with Jenkins (offering Ffoukes an opportunity to irritate him even more), and thus making herself invaluable to the shop; and Timothy, a quiet youngster that usually kept to himself.

Unfortunately, Timothy fell ill and was forced to quit, leaving me with an open spot. Normally, being the cheapskate that I am, I wouldn't have replaced him, but Eva was unable to pick up any of Timothy's work hours due to her school schedule, Ffoukes just didn't want to, _I _didn't want Jenkins to, and Anne already worked the same hours as Timothy (and more).

So reluctantly I began searching for someone to work in Timothy's place. The first two applicants were real doozies – one of them a lady with pointed glasses who wouldn't shut up about the poor state of Britain's public libraries, the other one a girl who in fact wasn't even looking for a job and was instead wondering if I would like to donate to some charitable organization so she could beef up her résumé

After several other candidates that were just as highly qualified and distinguished as the first two, I was ready to accept just about anybody. Which is how the kid ended up getting the job, as you'll see.

He walked into the shop with a priceless expression on his face – awe, greed, and ambition all rolled up in one package. You might wonder how I could read that off of a kid coming into a bookstore. Let's just say I've had practice.

"Hullo," I said dully from my seat behind the desk, reciting the standard greeting to paying customers that no one on staff ever bothered to say. "Welcome to Alexandria Books. How can I help you?"

"I'm here for the job interview," he said, walking right up to the counter.

"Joy." I could barely contain my excitement. "Sit down, I guess."

"There's not a chair."

"Never mind, then."

The kid didn't seem put off by my less-than-enthusiastic demeanor. Instead he seemed ready to wet himself at the prospect of working at the store, actually. His enthusiasm scared me slightly, but he was vastly saner than most of the other people I'd interviewed, and only half as annoying. That's not saying much, but he was better than nothing.

"Well, then," I said ten minutes later, cutting off a long narrative that I'm sure would've been quite entertaining, "that's it. You're hired."

"Really?" He could barely contain his glee. At this I reconsidered the thought of hiring him, but I soon remembered the other interviewees and nodded.

"Yep. You'll start tomorrow, if you can."

"Great!"

"Yeah." I paused. "Wait. I never got your name."

"Oh." He blinked. "It's Nathaniel."

"Very well. It's a pleasure to have you on staff, Nathaniel." This was a blatant lie. "I'm Bartimaeus. Jenkins is in the back somewhere right now, but trust me, you don't want to meet him."

He gave me an odd look but said nothing. "Okay, I guess. I'll be here tomorrow, then, at ten o'clock."

"I look forward to it."

I cut off the conversation there, as I was quickly becoming a habitual liar. The kid nodded at me and left, leaving me alone with Jenkins. I sat and silently waited for three o'clock to come and for Eva's shift to start.

Three hours had never seemed so long in my entire life. Usually I avoided the store at all costs when Jenkins was working, unless Ffoukes was working as well. Today, though, Ffoukes was sick (allegedly, anyways), so I was left with cheery Mr. Sunshine for the early afternoon.

"The price tags on these books are coming off," Jenkins griped to me just after lunch.

"Put on new ones," I said simply. I didn't look up from my rather immersing game of solitaire on the computer. Quite an exciting life, mine was.

"Yes, but I have to take these off first," he replied in his irritatingly nasal voice. "And they'll leave grime, which I'll have to wipe off with a paper towel, and that'll take _at least_ thirty minutes."

"Oh no." With every fiber of my being I hoped that it would take longer. "Just put the new tags over the old ones."

He looked at me, an incredulous expression on his face. "That's ridiculous! We can't lower our quality standards like that and expect to compete with the corporate stores!"

I resisted the temptation to throw the computer at him, but only barely. It was an expensive computer, after all. Luckily he went off into the back room muttering to himself, and I didn't see him for forty-five minutes or so. I silently hoped that he would just not come back – it's not like many customers came in before three or so, and the ones that did always kept to themselves.

Unfortunately he returned. It was at this time I made myself available around the store and let Jenkins handle the counter. The advantages to this were extremely obvious: he was stuck in one place, while I could go anywhere I pleased to avoid him. Unfortunately this meant that I actually had to answer questions and talk to the customers, but as I said, they didn't talk much, and even if they did they were preferable to Jenkins. And besides, I could always hide from them. Eventually I decided to just leave altogether. There's only so much of Jenkins a sane person can take.

I had just avoided another customer on my way out of the store when Eva entered the store.

"Bartimaeus," she said, "I was wondering if –"

"No time to talk, Eva, gotta run!" I breathed as I blew past her.

"But –"

I stopped at the door and took a peek at Jenkins – he was busy with a customer. "Listen," I said, "I've really got to go. Is this that important?"

She hadn't been expecting that. "Um…"

"Right. If something bad happens, call me. If Jenkins is crushed under a bookcase, call me and we'll celebrate. Besides that, I'm leaving. Goodbye!"

I didn't give her another chance to say anything. It's a good tactic to use when debating or arguing, actually. However, it can also be kind of pointless, as leaving midway through an argument kind of kills the discussion. On this occasion, though, it worked perfectly. I was already across the street at Druid's before she had even realized that I was gone.

Druid's was a fairly nice place – nothing too flashy, but not too shabby, either. Usually I'd sit outside with a paper, but unfortunately I had forgotten said paper in my haste to evacuate the store. Oh well.

I approached the hostess outside the front door.

"Outside table, please," I said.

She chewed her bubble gum in a rather bored fashion and led me to a nearby table. Not a bad view, either – I could see through the window of the store, just in case Jenkins annoyed Eva enough to make her punch (or slap or kick or any other form of assault) him.

"We'll have someone with you shortly," she stated. I turned to thank her, being the gentleman that I am, but she'd already left. Druid's wasn't exactly known for its service quality.

I sat and waited for a waiter to pass near. It was a quite serene scene, really, even with all the activity around. Everyone was so immersed in their own lives and problems that they didn't take a single glance at the world around them. I could've gotten up on my table and done back flips and I doubt anyone would've noticed.

Finally a waitress walked by and I was able to flag her down. She was a pretty girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with dark hair and a feisty complexion. Let's just say I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley. (Or maybe I _would._ Just kidding. I'm not _that_ kind of creepy old guy.) She looked like a university student, or perhaps someone who'd bunked off from university altogether. It was hard to tell. Listen, you'll find out all about her later. There's a reason I'm describing her so much. It's called foreshadowing. It's what good writers (i.e. me) do.

"Yes?" Her tone wasn't outwardly hostile, but I could tell she was fairly bored, just as the hostess had been.

"I'd like a large coffee," I said. I thought for a moment; her foot tapped against the ground impatiently. "Um… and an éclair. Yeah. An éclair."

"All right. I'll be back in a few seconds."

This was a load of bull, of course. I sincerely doubted she'd be back within fifteen minutes. A large group had just walked in, and I could see them waving to her frantically as they hooted and hollered. I've gotta admit, though, the look on her face was priceless. Kind of like a mixture between sheer loathing and pure terror.

Fourteen minutes later she returned with my coffee and éclair. She set them down on the table forcefully, and I looked to the other group. Still hooting. I was impressed she'd even made it back with my order without socking them in the face.

"Sorry." Her face was unapologetic.

"No problem," I said kindly. Unfortunately, my benevolence was lost on her, and her expression didn't change a bit.

"Check," she grunted, tossing it down on the table. I looked up to thank her but she was already hurrying back into the coffeehouse.

I sat there and sipped my coffee and ate my éclair for a while. She hadn't returned in thirty minutes, and although she _did_ have such a sparkling personality, I knew it was probably better that I got back to the store. Eva might have killed Jenkins by now. I decided that I should be there when the police came by.

Unfortunately Jenkins was still alive and well when I entered the store. He was currently regaling Eva with a long story that had something to do with a computer game involving dragons. Fascinating stuff, I'm sure, but Eva didn't look too interested. In fact, she didn't seem to be paying attention at all. Smart girl.

"You see, he didn't realize that I was right there the entire time," Jenkins was saying. I brushed past him and took my place next to Eva behind the counter.

"Compelling, Jenkins," I said, "but we need to sort that new shipment."

He shrugged. "Already did while you were out."

"And the extras?"

"I put them in the back like you told me." As much as I hated to admit it, Jenkins was a good worker, which is exactly why I was forced to keep him around. That, and the previously mentioned coffee. You wouldn't believe how great it was to come into the store at ten o'clock in the morning, have one of Jenkins's savory cups of coffee, and then proceed to tune him out for the rest of the day.

"Good," I replied. I checked the register. "How's business been?"

"Normal." Eva examined her cuticles dully.

"Good," I repeated.

The rest of the day passed without much incident. At eight o'clock I let Eva and Jenkins go home – they were arguing over something or another and didn't notice until I nearly shouted it at them – and then locked the store and hailed a cab. Most days I walked home, actually, as I only lived a few minutes away, but it had rained that morning, and I wasn't really keen on getting drenched.

I arrived at my flat shortly, and as soon as I had entered it plopped down on the couch and turned on the telly. It was my normal Friday night ritual. (Rereading that it looks quite pathetic – I got out _some_ of the time, you know. I wasn't not that pitiful.) I fell asleep in the middle of an _A Bit of Fry and Laurie _rerun, and before I even knew it, I was awake and walking back to the store.

The weather had cleared up a bit, thankfully. While still overcast, the ground was only slightly damp, and the temperature was just perfect. The town still seemed a bit groggy, as it always was on weekend mornings; I think the entire area had one collective hangover. Slightly heartened by the change in weather, yet still a bit tired myself, I arrived at the store in good time. The door was open; Anne had gotten there before me, it seemed, and opened the doors.

When I entered I found the kid waiting by the register. I groaned inwardly, having forgotten that he was starting that day. This meant I would actually have to teach him what he was supposed to do and all. No doubt he'd ask a bunch of questions, too, being one of those eager types.

"Hello," he greeted me cheerfully.

"Hullo," I responded, slightly less chipper than he. "I assume you've met Anne, then."

"Yes. She's turning on the lights in the back."

"Good. When she gets back we'll show you exactly what you're supposed to do."

A minute later she returned. We spent a while showing him the ropes: what to organize, how to ring things up on the register. All of it very exciting stuff, but I'll spare you the details, no matter how exhilarating they may be.

Although he asked far too many questions (as I had predicted), he was a quick learner. By the time we opened the store I felt relatively confident that he would only make several idiotic errors his first day, which was much less than Ffoukes had (remind me to tell you about it later – _that's_ an interesting story). Anne and I took turns supervising him as the first few customers trickled in. Things didn't pick up on Saturdays until noon or so, and hopefully by then he'd have some clue what he was doing.

As I just mentioned, around noon something interesting happened. The pretty waitress from Druid's entered the store, and I could feel the kid's eyes gravitate to her as soon as she walked in the door. She perused the titles for a while, and his eyes followed her the entire time. Even when she went behind a bookshelf he stared straight at it, as if he had x-ray vision. I mean, it was probably the first time he'd ever seen a girl, so I don't really blame him for staring. But the slackened jaw and excessive amount of drool was really unnecessary, if not unsanitary.

Of course, when she approached the counter it got very entertaining. She handed him her books and he kind of looked at them for a second and then back to her as if unsure what to do.

She blinked. "Here. My books."

"Right!" he said suddenly, nodding so much he looked rather like a Pez dispenser. He stared at the register for a moment as if he'd completely forgotten everything I'd told him that morning.

"Scan the books!" I whispered loudly from behind him. He shot me a timid glare before obliging. She looked slightly amused.

After scanning the books he looked to the register. I almost told him what to do next, but he recovered from his stupor and rang the purchase up. He bagged the books and handed them to her, and she began walking out the door.

At this point I just sat back and watched with unabashed giddiness. Just as she reached the door he leapt upwards, hoisting a thin slip of paper high above his head like a sword.

"Wait! Your receipt!" he cried.

She glanced at the receipt. "Oh," she said. She took it from him. "Thanks."

Receipt in hand, she walked out of the store. He craned his neck to follow her for a while longer.

"Stop that," I said, still grinning. "You'll fall over the counter if you lean over any more."

He shot back upwards and gave me a dirty look. Taking his seat once more, he began attending to the next customers.

The next hour or so was quite busy, as was the norm on Saturdays. People were always in the area around lunch, eating, shopping – all that good stuff that I neither have the time nor inclination to do. However, thirty minutes past one things slowed down, which again was the norm. It'd be four until things picked up again, and from then to closing time the shop would be packed.

At two, finally having tired of alphabetizing the nonfiction shelf, I returned to the front desk. The kid was sitting with his head cradled in his hands, obviously bored to tears. I was about to say something snarky when a large, flashy car outside Druid's caught my eyes. I stared at it for a moment, and a thought suddenly came upon me.

"Hey! Nat!" He glanced in my direction, and I didn't bother to see if the nickname had annoyed him. "You want a break?"

"What? My shift's not over."

"I know. That's why it's called a break." Not the brightest kid, but as I've told you, his competition for the job was not exactly stellar. "You ever been to Druid's?"

"No," he replied. I smiled.

"Really? It's a good coffeehouse, not half-bad. Nice place to relax." I waved at him, ushering him out of his seat. "C'mon. Let's go get a muffin or something."

"But the counter –"

"Ah. I'd nearly forgotten." I turned towards the back room. "Anne! I'm taking Nat here to go deliver a special order. Will you handle the counter for us?"

"Fine," came her voice from behind the labyrinth of shelves. "Just don't take too long, you know it's going to get busy soon."

"I know, I know." I grabbed the kid by the shoulder and nearly dragged him out of the door. "C'mon, let's go."

He said nothing, looking rather appalled at the idea of missing work, even if on his boss's orders. He was still quite jerky, really, and still looked a bit nervous, too. I smiled.

I wondered if the girl would be working at Druid's on two o'clock on a Saturday.

-


	2. Two

Disclaimer: not mine.

* * *

Two

-

"Nathaniel!" He flew down the stairs, hurriedly trying to flatten his hair. "Nathaniel!"

"Coming!" he called back. In a few seconds he had zipped into the kitchen, where Mrs. Underwood stood, fixing breakfast.

"There you are! Arthur said that you'd be working today." She flipped two eggs in the frying pan with ease. "When do you start?"

"At ten," he said, nipping a piece of bacon from a napkin beside the stove. "The store opens at eleven today, and they want me there thirty minutes beforehand, but I've decided to go early."

"That's good. You want to make a good impression on your first day." She slapped his hand as he attempted to take another piece. "Arthur wanted to know if you'd take out the trash. He had to go into work today, apparently a big deal's about to pull through."

"Okay." Still chewing his bacon, he reached under the sink and grabbed the trash bin. He began walking into the hallways and had reached the front door when he suddenly stopped. "Mrs. Underwood?" he called. "Do you want me to get any of the other bins as well?"

"No, dear, Arthur got them yesterday. And call me Martha, you silly boy. If I've told you once I've told you a million times."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and opened the door, walking out of the house and out to the street. He dumped the contents of the bin into the larger container and nodded to one of the neighbors that was outside mowing his lawn. Another neighbor, an elderly lady from down the street, waved to him cheerfully and he waved back with equal vigor. All in all it was a nice street – he hoped that in several years he would live on such a street. That'd not be bad at all, if he could afford such a house by the age of thirty.

Mrs. Underwood appeared in the doorway. "Nathaniel! Your breakfast is ready!"

He took one last look at the neighborhood before hurrying back into the house. His breakfast was waiting on the counter in the kitchen, and as he began Mrs. Underwood turned on the television.

"That new Quentin Makepeace film came out yesterday," she said, pointing to the screen. It was a commercial: a large, imposing man was standing in a heroic pose with an adoring woman to his side, imp-like monsters dancing all about them. "It looks exciting."

"Mmhm," Nathaniel offered as he chewed on a piece of toast, silently thinking that the movie looked like just another idiotic summer blockbuster.

"Oh look! Simon Lovelace is on the morning show! He's such a handsome young fellow."

Nathaniel glanced upward. An attractive man with neat black hair and bright blue, bespectacled eyes was on one of the morning talk shows, chatting up one of the hosts. He was dressed to kill, Nathaniel noticed with a twinge of jealousy, in a nice black suit and a vivid blue shirt under it, unbuttoned stylishly at the top. He had an air of supreme confidence about him – the hosts all gazed at him adoringly.

"So, Simon," said one of the female hosts, eyes flitting mischievously, "is it true that you're going to run for office?"

"Oh, people like to talk," Lovelace laughed. He smiled. "Although I have thought about it quite a bit, I'll admit. Some days I think that I could perhaps do a better job than the people we have in charge, unfortunately. But I'd only run if my fellow citizens wanted me to."

"I'm sure they do!" exclaimed one of the men. Everyone laughed; even Lovelace let out a chuckle.

"But is it true that you might consider running for Prime Minister?" asked the woman.

Lovelace gave her a coy look. "Oh, I don't know. It all depends. If that's what you want, of course, Doreen!"

She blushed profusely, and they all laughed once more. Nathaniel turned back to his breakfast. Now _that _was a powerful man right there. Simon Lovelace, leading businessman. Everyone liked him, and people were clamoring for him to run for office. That would be someone to emulate. If he could only be half as successful as Simon Lovelace then he'd be quite satisfied.

Mrs. Underwood's voice interrupted his thoughts. "How're you getting to work, dear?"

"Bus," he answered, checking his watch. "Ah. I should probably go to the stop now. Thanks for breakfast."

He picked up his plate and set it in the sink, hurrying out the door before Mrs. Underwood could even say goodbye. The bus stop was only at the end of the street; he saw that the bus was already pulling in, and so burst into a sprint, barely making it up the steps before the doors closed.

"I thought you wouldn't make it," grunted the driver as he took a seat at the front. "Pity."

Nathaniel didn't reply. He'd had this driver before; he was often irritable. Nathaniel knew better than to take the bait.

The bus ride was uneventful. This part of London was sleepy on Saturday mornings. He got off a block away from the store and walked up to the front doors – locked. He checked his watch. He was even earlier than he had planned to be.

Five minutes later a middle-aged woman walked up to the store. She gave him one look-over before nodding in recognition.

"You must be Nathaniel," she said.

"Yes," he replied.

"You're early. Here, let me open up the store. Bartimaeus is probably still asleep, knowing him." She unlocked the front doors and he followed her inside. She flipped on the light switches and slowly the entire shop was illuminated. "You can sit behind the counter for now. I've got to go turn on the lights in the back. Bartimaeus will be here shortly, I hope."

He nodded and she disappeared behind one of the numerous bookshelves. Something about sitting behind the counter seemed wrong to him, foreign, even. He settled on standing next to the register.

Sooner than he had anticipated the doors flew open and his boss stood in the doorway, still looking quite tired.

"Hello," he greeted him.

Bartimaeus's response was less enthusiastic. "Hullo. I assume you've met Anne, then."

"Yes," Nathaniel replied. "She's turning on the lights in the back."

"Good," Bartimaeus grunted. "When she gets back we'll show you exactly what you're supposed to do."

They were silent until Anne returned. She sighed and rubbed her hands upon seeing Bartimaeus.

"Good, you're here," she said. She glanced at Nathaniel. "Now, what exactly did you want us to show him?"

"Organizing the books, ringing things up on the register. All the basics. Anything else he can ask us."

Nathaniel spent the next thirty minutes learning exactly what he would be doing at the store and how to do it. It all seemed rather easy; nonetheless, he made sure to ask questions about anything he was unsure of. Anne was delighted to answer his questions, Bartimaeus quite the opposite – he rolled his eyes or let out an affected sigh whenever Nathaniel asked him something. Even so, Bartimaeus gave satisfactory replies when he bothered to reply at all, and by opening time, Nathaniel felt reasonably confident in his ability to do his job.

The first few hours were rather boring. Several customers trickled in – Nathaniel handled the register during those hours, and didn't make any obvious mistakes (although there was one incident with miscounted change… no big deal, really). Anne offered him a reassuring smile a few minutes before twelve.

"You're doing well," she said. "Better than Ffoukes did, at any rate."

"Thanks." He tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn. "Is it always this slow?"

She shook her head. "No. In a few minutes here it will really pick up."

He soon found her words to be true. Several children came in with their parents, along with some elderly people and two teenagers. The store got considerably louder at this point (mostly the children and teens – certainly not the elderly people), and business began to pick up at a better pace.

It was shortly after noon when he rung up one of the children and thanked them for their business. He was just watching them leave when he saw the door stay open after them and someone else come inside. It was a girl, a pretty girl, with dark hair and fierce eyes. She didn't even spare him a wayward glance as she walked past the counter and into one of the store's many rows.

She was just beginning to peruse the titles when out of the corner of his eye he noticed his boss watching him. He tilted his head just an inch or so for a better view of his face; Bartimaeus was grinning slightly, as if something funny was going on. He turned away when Nathaniel looked at him, and Nathaniel looked back to the counter.

After several minutes the girl approached him with her purchase. She handed him the books, and he took them. He skimmed the titles. A fantasy here, a how-to book there… an eclectic selection, to be sure. Some of them looked like impulse buys, really.

"There," she said suddenly, and he broke from his reverie. "My books."

He looked down to the books in his hands, and he nodded and moved to scan them. "Right."

That had been very smooth. He'd really made an idiot out of himself right there. Good job. Now she probably thought he was incompetent, as well.

"Scan the books!" he heard someone whisper loudly. He glanced behind him. His boss. Scowling, he turned back to the register, noticing with some irritation that the girl was now wearing a very small, yet noticeable, smile

He scanned the books with relative ease, having gotten much practice with one group of kids who'd somehow managed to convince their parents to buy seventeen books. They were all paperbacks except for one – he didn't recognize the book at first. Whatever it was, perhaps this was the one she had come to buy. After all, all of the other ones looked like bargain buys. This one, though, looked special.

He realized that Bartimaeus had leaned forward to instruct him again and embarrass him even more than he already had. Before the man could do so, Nathaniel rung up her purchase and bagged her books. She took them from him and began walking to the door.

It was at this moment that he realized that he had forgotten to give her the receipt. Swearing inwardly, he ripped it off of the register.

"Wait!" he called, holding it above his head as casually as he could. "Your receipt!"

She looked at him for a moment before reaching forward and taking it. "Oh. Thanks."

Without another look back she turned and walked on out of the store. His eyes followed her for a while; he wondered if she was a student. She couldn't be much older than he was, maybe a year or so. Maybe she worked in the area?

"Stop that. You'll fall over the counter if you lean over any more."

Of course. Bartimaeus. Very quickly Nathaniel was growing to dislike, possibly even detest, his employer. He could be such a nuisance.

He spent most of the next hour and a half attending to other less interesting customers. Another big group came in at one – it looked to be a couple of teachers and a few of their students. They all paid at once and caused a good deal of commotion, but after their departure people slowly began to filter out of the store. Anne spent her time assisting whatever customers were left; his boss spent most of his time doing God-knows-what in the nonfiction aisle. Probably looking up human reproduction or other such juvenile topics in the encyclopedia for all he knew.

Fifteen minutes had passed without a customer when Bartimaeus emerged from the aisle. He glanced at Nathaniel (who realized that perhaps he shouldn't be dozing off with his head held in his hands) and looked like he was about to say a snide comment, but he stopped suddenly and began gazing at something outside of the window. Then, equally as suddenly, he jerked his head towards his employee.

"Hey! Nat!" Nathaniel winced at the usage of the nickname. "You want a break?"

He gave him a skeptical look. This was unexpected. "What? My shift's not over."

"I know," Bartimaeus sighed. "That's why it's called a break. You ever been to Druid's?"

"No."

"Really?" His boss looked genuinely surprised. "It's a good coffeehouse, not half-bad. C'mon. Let's go get a muffin or something."

Nathaniel frowned and looked at the register. "But the counter –"

"Ah. I'd nearly forgotten." Bartimaeus turned towards the back room. "Anne! I'm taking Nat here to go deliver a special order. Will you handle the counter for us?"

Her reply was slightly muffled by the numerous shelves between them. "Fine. Just don't take too long, you know it's going to get busy soon."

"I know, I know," Bartimaeus said, rolling his eyes. He took Nathaniel by the shoulder and nearly pushed him out of the door. "C'mon, let's go."

Nathaniel wondered what type of place Druid's would be, and why the old man was taking him there. He soon saw that it was quite literally just across the street; it looked like a nice place, too, with tables outside. They crossed the street in between bursts of traffic and Bartimaeus led the way to the front of the coffeehouse.

"Hullo," he said, addressing the hostess. "Table for two, outside."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You again?"

"Yes, me again," he repeated, voice somewhat impatient. "And again, table for two, outside."

"Fine, fine, don't get your socks all in a twist." She scribbled something on a pad of paper and looked up at them in annoyance. "Well, what are you waiting for? Seat yourselves, I'll send someone along in half a jiff."

Nathaniel made to follow Bartimaeus to their table, but the man stopped in his tracks.

"Get me a paper, won't you? They're on the other side." Nathaniel reluctantly went to fetch him a paper, hearing Bartimaeus call out after him, "And get the free one, of course."

He obliged, and, paper in hand, the two found a table with a nice view of the store. Several waiters and waitresses passed near – Nathaniel was just about to flag one down but Bartimaeus stopped him.

"No," he said, batting his hand down for a third time. "I know someone here. I want to see if they work on Saturdays."

"Very well," Nathaniel replied, silently miffed. He was starving.

Bartimaeus did not seem too concerned with Nathaniel's personal desires and unfolded his paper, reading contently for several minutes. Every few seconds he would look over the edge of the paper, presumably to find his friend. Several times Nathaniel thought he had seen him, but he only twitched and kept on reading.

He finally looked over the paper again and upon seeing something (or someone) shot up in his seat.

"Well, my friend's obviously not here," he said hurriedly, folding his paper roughly. "That girl looks nice, though. Let's flag her down."

He waved his hand high above his head, and Nathaniel turned to see exactly who he had chosen to wait on them. He felt an abrupt jolt in his stomach; it was the girl from the store. Great.

"You again?" she asked as she approached their table, echoing the hostess.

"Yes, and I brought my good buddy here with me." Bartimaeus grinned. "You guys have met, haven't you, Nat?"

Nathaniel tried to bore a hole in Bartimaeus's head with a particularly icy glare. "Yes, we have."

"That's great and all, but are you going to order or did you just come to chat me up?" the girl asked impatiently. "Unless you'll tip me for a good talk, I'd rather get to my paying customers."

"No, no," Bartimaeus stated. "I'll have a coffee and an éclair, just like yesterday."

"And I'll have a glass of water and a blueberry muffin," Nathaniel added.

"Very well," the girl responded, nodding. "I'll be back in a minute or two."

She headed off to attend to someone else, and Bartimaeus sighed.

"It'll be about fifteen minutes before she gets back to us, of course," he said. "And I wouldn't get the muffin, if I was you. Half the time it's got nuts or some other kind of berry you didn't want in it."

"Great. Just what I needed." He placed his elbow on the table and rested his head in his palm. "Is there a reason you brought me here? Is it to annoy me, or to humiliate me?"

"Not really. Just thought it would be amusing."

"Thanks for that."

"No problem. Any time."

Bartimaeus then picked up his paper and began reading it with a dull expression on his face. Nathaniel looked about the area for a while, which wasn't exactly exciting. Just a bunch of cars and lights and buildings. Nevertheless, this boredom was better than any conversation with his counterpart. Those were just annoying.

Bartimaeus turned out to be correct in his estimation; about fifteen minutes later the waitress returned with their order.

"Coffee and an éclair for you, and your water and muffin." She set down their food and looked to both of them expectantly. "Anything else?"

"No, that's good," Bartimaeus said. "You can bring us our check now."

"Together or separate?"

"Separate,' Nathaniel replied quickly.

"Okay. I'll go get it and be back in a minute."

Again she headed off, and Bartimaeus chuckled as he took a cautious sip of his coffee.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, setting down the coffee and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"What is it?" Nathaniel pressed.

"All right. I was just thinking that you should ask her out."

Nathaniel frowned. "And why is that funny?"

"I didn't think you'd see the humor in it." He smoothed out his paper against the surface of the table. "You should, though. She's a cute girl. Nice bum. Seems like she's got a feisty personality, too, should be real good in –"

"That's enough, thank you!" Nathaniel said, cutting off what would have likely been a very colorful thought. He downed a mouthful of his water, hoping his face hadn't gone completely red. "Why would I ask her out? I don't even know her!"

"That's the point of it, you see," drawled Bartimaeus. "You see a pretty girl, you ask her for her number, you go out with her, you take her home, you –"

"Again, enough!"

"Fine, then," he said, shrugging. "I'm just telling you how it is."

"Oh really?" Nathaniel asked, annoyed. "And what would you know about it? When was the last time you went out on a date, anyways?"

"That doesn't matter. What does matter is that I did, and quite a bit, mind you." He didn't even look up from his paper. "When you get older you stop going out so much. That's more for kids like you."

"People your age still go out!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "What are you, thirty-five? Forty? You just can't get a date!"

"Rubbish. I've got plenty of women fawning all over me at the moment, and a couple men, too. Trust me, I'm that good."

Nathaniel laughed, ignoring this statement. "You can't get a date! I can't believe it! And you're sitting here giving me advice on how to ask out a waitress!"

Bartimaeus wasn't looking at him anymore, however; he was looking upward and smiling.

It was the waitress, standing near them with an unreadable expression. "Your checks."

"Thank you," Bartimaeus said, still grinning. Nathaniel nodded meekly and took his, not looking her in the eyes.

She left and they were left alone once more.

"Smooth move," commented Bartimaeus.

"Shut up."

"That's no way to talk to your boss." Bartimaeus did not look angry at all, though, and was still wearing that stupid grin.

Nathaniel was in a bad mood for the rest of the time that they were there. The girl passed by several times; he determinedly stared away from her each time, and each time Bartimaeus looked like he was about to explode with laughter.

"You know, I think I need to ask her something about my check," Bartimaeus remarked as she passed them for the third time. "I thought the price of éclairs was lower."

"Don't you dare!" Nathaniel breathed threateningly.

"Yes, yes, I really should, I don't want to overpay –"

"Fine! I'm leaving!" He stood up suddenly, nearly knocking the table over in his haste. "I'll see you back at the store!"

"All right, all right. Just kidding." He put down a bill on the table and stood. "Let's go, I guess."

They left the coffeehouse without incident (the girl was on the other side of the outdoor patio). When they returned to the store, Anne met them at the front door.

"Good," she said. "I was just about to come get you. There's a crowd of kids in here right now, but they haven't purchased anything yet. Hurry up and get back behind the counter, Nathaniel, before they make their purchases."

He did so, and Bartimaeus headed off to the nonfiction aisle once more while Anne went off to the sports section. He was still slightly irritated about the debacle at Druid's; it had been highly embarrassing. No doubt Bartimaeus would remind him of it constantly. This only added to his irritation.

And she _had_ been a pretty girl, too. Pity. Not that he'd have done anything, anyways. But he might've. Now it was too late to know.

Some ten minutes later the group of kids made their purchase and exited the store, but the late afternoon rush was only beginning. From four to five-thirty the store was packed, and Nathaniel was too busy to think any more of the incident at the coffeehouse. As six o'clock grew nearer, however, the store began to thin out, until only a few customers were left.

At six Anne approached him at the desk.

"You're done," she said. He jerked up, having dozed off against the computer. "Can you be here at nine tomorrow? We'll need you 'til four or five, I think. Sundays are usually pretty hectic, so we'll have someone else in tomorrow, as well."

"Yeah, that should be fine." He got up and stretched his legs, barely stifling a yawn. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He left the store and got on the bus a block away. The ride home was rather uneventful – he had to keep himself from falling asleep. When he finally arrived home, he walked right in the door and headed straight to his room.

"How was your first day of work, dear?" Mrs. Underwood called as he headed up the stairs.

"Good," he yelled back. "I'm going to go lie down in my room now."

"Arthur will be back at eight, and we'll be eating when he gets home." He stopped at the door so he could just barely hear her. "Would you like me to come get you then?"

"Yes, that'll be fine." He entered his room and threw himself down onto the bed. In several minutes he was sound asleep.

-


	3. Three

Disclaimer: don't own Bartimaeus Trilogy or any associated characters, they're all Jonathan Stroud's, so on, and so on.

* * *

Three

-

Kitty woke up at nine o'clock on Saturday morning, as was her custom. She would eat breakfast and watch television until ten, and then would head for the coffeehouse as she always did on days when she had the afternoon shift.

This morning the choice of shows was not too exciting – mostly cartoons and infomercials – but she finally settled on a talk show, where a handsome man with black hair and glasses was chatting up the show's hosts amiably. She largely ignored it and instead read the paper as she ate her cereal. It, too, was somewhat boring, but it was better than the fake friendliness that was currently dominating her television.

At nine forty-five she dressed, and at ten o'clock sharp she left for the coffeehouse. It was only a short walk away from her flat, and she had never really seen the point of taking a bus or cab when she could get there quicker for less money.

As she exited her complex and walked out onto the street, she passed Mr. Button, a peculiar old man who had a bad leg and was forced to use a cane. He was returning to his flat with a piping hot cup of coffee, and he smiled at her as she held the gate open for him.

"Thank you, my girl," he said, hobbling through the gateway. "As you can see, I've already been to your place of employment. There's a fascinating documentary that will be coming on in thirty minutes – I wanted to make sure I was fully attentive to it!"

"No problem," she replied. He was an odd man, but a fairly nice one, at least. "Goodbye, Mr. Button. I won't be back until six or so."

"I shall await you with bated breath," he said sarcastically, but not cruelly. He limped toward his flat and soon had opened the door and entered.

She was not the only one walking the streets at this hour; several people were out on the sidewalks, most of them groggy and looking like were also on their way to work. She reached Druid's in several minutes, and Gladys, the hostess that usually worked the same shift that she did, was already there.

"You're late," she said in her standard monotone. Gladys's voice rarely became excited or even angry. "George is furious with you. We're already short a few people as it is."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I'm five minutes early, and there's barely any business right now."

"Drat," Gladys replied in mock disappointment. "Almost had you that time."

Business was slow for a while; it picked up at around eleven, before leveling off at noon. This was the norm for weekends, though, and Kitty was kept plenty busy with the customers she did have.

Shortly after noon, when most of the customers were taken by the other waiters and waitresses, Kitty decided to take her lunch break. She approached the front of the coffeehouse, where Gladys was standing at her post looking for all the world as if she'd like nothing better than to stab herself in the temple with the bright red fountain pen she was holding in her hand.

"I'm going for lunch," said Kitty. "D'you want to come with me?"

"No, my mum's insisting on having a proper lunch with me in fifteen minutes at one of those fancy restaurants I can't possibly afford." Gladys scribbled something on her pad of paper. "On second thought, take me with you. It'd be much easier on my wallet."

"Ah, stop complaining," Kitty replied. "Knowing your mum she'll insist that you order the most expensive thing on the menu and then she'll pick up the tab."

"Probably, but still. At least complaining about it keeps me entertained. Rarely anything else does when I'm stuck all day up here."

Kitty knew better than to give Gladys the attention she was so obviously seeking. Instead, she said a short goodbye, walked out to the intersection, and was about to head to a sandwich place down the street but thought better of it. There was a book store across the road, and she had yet to get her mother a birthday gift. Her mother had mentioned a certain book by one of her favorite authors the last time they'd visited, a sappy romance novel that Kitty knew would be no good but that her mother would positively adore. She'd have to go get a card later, of course, but that was nothing to worry about now.

She crossed the street as soon as traffic died down a bit and entered the store. It was fairly nice, not too large but crammed to the brim with shelves and shelves of books pertaining to anything one could possibly want to read about. She headed straight to the romance section, which was possibly the largest section in the entire store. It didn't take long to find the title she was looking for; it was listed with the bestsellers, and available in both hardback and paperback. Deciding that hardback would look much better as a gift, she removed it from the shelf and tucked it under her arm.

She took a few minutes to look around for any books she herself might want. In the fantasy aisle she picked up a book about a young boy and a demon, which she only noticed because of its appealing cover. Most of her time was spent in the nonfiction section; she got a biography of a famous actor and a self-help book about fixing household appliances (her toaster, a rather old and dusty machine, would occasionally splutter and die when used). A man with reddish brown hair seemed to be organizing some of the titles in the section; she recognized him from her previous visits to the store. He was a manager, or perhaps the owner, and every few minutes he would glance at the front counter in what he probably thought was a very discreet fashion. She thought she recognized him – he looked like someone she'd waited on at Druid's the day before.

Satisfied with her haul, she approached the boy behind the register and handed him her books. For several seconds he looked like he was skimming over them, possibly even judging her taste.

"There," she said, just to remind him. "My books."

He flushed, and his eyes stopped scanning the titles. "Right."

He looked for a moment like he was chastising himself for his stupidity. She rapped her fingers on the counter impatiently, as he still hadn't even begun to ring up her purchase.

"Scan the books!" It was the man from the nonfiction aisle. She grinned, and the boy obeyed, although he looked a little the worse for it. He stared at the books for a while, and before the man could give him any more instructions, he hurriedly pressed a few buttons on the register and bagged her books, handing them to her with averted eyes.

She was almost out of the store when his voice stopped her:

"Wait! Your receipt!"

Kitty stared at him for a moment before realizing that she had indeed forgotten to pick up her receipt.

"Oh." She took it from him. "Thanks."

Tow in hand, she exited the store. She again waited for a break in the traffic and crossed the street, now heading for the sandwich place. In a few moments she was there, and she stood in line for a short while before ordering her food. It was ready in another couple of minutes, and she ate in silence for a while, reading the first few pages of the fantasy book she'd bought. It was somewhat confusing, but occasionally very amusing. Not bad for an impulse buy.

Five minutes later she finished up and threw the book in the bag, taking it with her back to the coffeehouse. When she reached it she set her bag with the rest of the employees' things and checked in with George, her manager. From the looks of it business was starting to pick up again.

"Thank God you're back," he said. "That new girl, she's late. Haven't the foggiest where she is. We'll need you to cover some of the inside tables, as well."

She was kept very busy for the next hour and a half. The new girl didn't show at all, and whenever Kitty passed near George he was grumbling under his breath about her. There was a table of elderly ladies that was rather difficult to deal with, and two teenage boys that hooted at her when she was walking away and made snide comments whenever she waited on them. Besides that, though, her tables were rather undemanding for a Saturday afternoon.

She had just given the ladies their checks when she was flagged down by another table. It was a table of two, and she recognized them quickly: the man and kid from the bookstore.

"You again?" she asked as she walked up to their table.

"Yes, and I brought my good buddy here with me," said the man. He was grinning (or smirking, rather), while the boy looked considerably less excited about seeing her again. "You guys have met, haven't you, Nat?"

"Yes, we have." The boy directed an absolutely piercing glare at his counterpart, who didn't seem to notice.

As entertaining as this might have been, there were plenty of customers that needed attending to, and her patience for chitchat had been worn out by those idiot boys. "That's great and all, but are you going to order or did you just come to chat me up? Unless you'll tip me for a good talk, I'd rather get to my paying customers."

"No, no," said the man. "I'll have a coffee and an éclair, just like yesterday."

The boy diverted his attention from his acquaintance just long enough to order, still scowling when he looked to her. "And I'll have a glass of water and a blueberry muffin."

"Very well. I'll be back in a minute or two."

She headed back inside to get their order, but was flagged down by two other tables on the way. By the time she finally made it back behind the inside counter (where the food items and coffee machines were), she had two full trays of drinks and food. Balancing them carefully (any dropped things were taken off her paycheck, unfortunately), she delivered the first two tables their orders, and when she reached the two from the bookstore she only had half a tray left.

"Coffee and an éclair for you, and your water and muffin," she said as she set down their drinks and food in front of them. "Anything else?"

The man set down his paper onto the table next to his coffee, making sure that he'd gotten what he'd ordered. After several seconds of inspection, finally he seemed to be satisfied with the color and smell of his coffee. "No, that's good. You can bring us our check now."

"Together or separate?"

"Separate," said the boy, almost as soon as she had asked.

"Okay," she replied. "I'll go get it and be back in a minute."

It didn't take her nearly as long to return with their check as it had with their order, thankfully. George did stop her after she'd rung it up at the register, though.

"She arrived," he stated bluntly. "Finally. You've just got outside tables now."

"Good." She sighed. "I couldn't take much more of handling both, to be honest."

Kitty checked on one the other tables on her way back, which thankfully had seen no problems with the food or with her service. As she approached the table, she heard a loud conversation taking place between the two. It sounded slightly like an argument, but the boy seemed to be the only one really arguing. The man looked rather amused by the whole thing.

"People your age still go out!" the boy was saying, rather frazzled. "What are you, thirty-five? Forty? You just can't get a date!"

"Rubbish. I've got plenty of women fawning all over me at the moment, and a couple men, too." A smug expression flashed across his face at this point and he smoothed back his hair with his hand. "Trust me, I'm that good."

"You can't get a date!" the boy retorted, letting out a sharp laugh. "I can't believe it! And you're sitting here giving me advice on how to ask out a waitress!"

She was just about to retreat back to another table, but it was too late. The man had seen her, and was positively beaming in her direction.

"Your checks," she said, voice bland.

The man took his happily. "Thanks."

The other didn't even look at her as he took his, instead opting for complete silence.

Kitty walked away from them then, leaving them to what would undoubtedly be a very interesting conversation. She wasn't quite sure how she should feel about the whole thing; while idiots like the table she'd had earlier weren't unusual for her, something like this was a new occurrence. It was somewhat funny and somewhat flattering, she supposed. At the very least the look on the boy's face had been worth it.

She walked by them several times, and was met with a glance and grin each time by the man. The boy, however, looked determinedly at his muffin. To his credit, he _was_ shaking a little less than he had been earlier.

The next time she passed by their table they had left. Business began to slow once more in the next hour or so, and she soon found herself with no tables to wait, instead standing at the front with Gladys, who had returned late from her lunch with her mother.

"I tell you, the woman can talk," Gladys said as she flicked a toothpick off of the tabletop with her finger. "She must've gone on about my love life for thirty minutes."

"You have a love life?" Kitty asked, smirking.

Gladys smiled, although for her this only meant that the corner of her mouth twitched just a bit. "That's why she only talked about it for thirty minutes."

"What else did she talk about, then?"

"Not much," Gladys said. "This, that. Gardening. The telly. Really whatever crossed her mind. Seeing as she's got practically no attention span whatsoever, that was quite a bit."

A man approached them then, and their conversation was interrupted.

"Just one," he said.

"In or out?" she asked.

"In."

Kitty nearly sighed with relief – she had no desire to wait any more tables today.

"Okay," said Gladys. "We should have plenty available. I'll send along someone in a second."

"Thanks." He headed off, and Kitty looked to Gladys.

"Why do we even have you here? We're a coffeehouse, it's not like we need a hostess. People can seat themselves."

"It's my looks," she replied, straight-faced (although she nearly always was anyways). "Apparently George thinks it'll attract customers. Good thing, too. Lord knows I've got no other qualifications for any sort of job."

"Too true. At least I can offer some kind of service."

"I could offer a kind of service, too," Gladys stated with her usual fake seriousness, "but it would require a much different wardrobe. Much less conservative."

The conversation continued on in this manner for a while. At one point George approached them, and for a split second Kitty thought he was going to reprimand them.

"Glad to see you two are working hard," he commented. He didn't appear irritated, though. "This is exactly why I hired you."

"We actually were discussing that, you know," Gladys said. "Kitty was wondering what the point of having a hostess at a coffeehouse was."

"There isn't a practical one. Just a pretty face to attract business."

"That's what I told her."

"I never said I didn't believe you!" Kitty objected.

"No, I could see it in your eyes, though." Her mouth twisted, almost into a sneer but not quite, and Kitty shook her head.

George was not as light-hearted as they were. "At least you two are awake. I caught the new girl napping in a booth just a minute ago."

"Fire her," Gladys suggested.

"I would, but there's not anyone better," he said. "One of the people I interviewed wasn't even looking for a job. She just wanted me to donate to some big important charity. Sent me on a guilt trip. Nearly got me to do it, too."

"That's the kind of competition you probably had," Kitty remarked, looking pointedly at Gladys, who just nodded.

"Probably," she agreed. She cocked her head to the side suddenly, as if a thought had just come to her. "Say, George – one of the waiters was saying that some big businessman or something is going to speak here in a few days. There's not any truth to that, is there?"

To Kitty's surprise, George nodded. "It's true. Simon Lovelace. He's a very popular man, everyone wants him to run for P.M. Called me up and told me that he'd been planning to give a small speech for a family friend, but due to demand needed more space. Liked the atmosphere and corner location and whatnot. I suppose he wants to connect with the common man and all that. He's probably some sleazy snob, but whatever, it'd be good exposure for us."

"Great," Kitty commented. "And I suppose we'll have to work while he's speaking, too."

"Yes. Thursday night. Don't give me that look, either. You're getting paid for it, aren't you? It's not like I'm asking you to volunteer or anything."

Kitty said nothing, silently already dreading the event. She'd never been one for politics – there were far too many fakeries and false niceties for her.

"Don't think I'm going to enjoy it, either," George said, seemingly reading her mind. "I hate that stuff just as much as you do. But it'll be good for business, at least, and we'll see what he has to say."

"Fine, whatever." Two women walked up to the group, and Gladys seated them. In a minute Kitty was taking their order, and for the rest of her shift she was kept busy. Finally, at six, she was off, and went to retrieve her book bag.

"What've you got there?" Gladys asked as she slung the bag around her shoulder.

"Books," she replied. "Gift for my mum, a few impulse buys. Not much, really."

"Ah." She set her pen down and picked up her own bag off of the ground. "I'm thinking about going to see a movie tonight. There's that new superhero movie out, the one with what's-his-face. You know, the guy that was in that horse movie. And I think the new Makepeace film is out, too."

"Yes, I love Makepeace films!" Kitty remarked dryly. "Sappy, overdone trash, if you ask me. Way too much melodrama."

"Oh, come on, they're not _that_ bad," Gladys said. "But we can go see that other one if you want. Are you going to come, though?"

Kitty thought it over for several moments before shaking her head. "No, I think I'm just going to go home and watch a movie there. I've still got an entire series of _Doctor Who_ my mum gave me that I haven't watched yet."

"Very well," Gladys replied. "You know, one of these days, I'm going to get you out and about. Take you places. All that stuff normal people do."

"Sure, sure."

Kitty bid her farewell and began the walk back to her flat. Mr. Button was sitting outside reading when she got there, and waved to her merrily.

"Good evening!" he greeted her.

"Good evening," she said. She tilted her head to his books. "Had a good day?"

"Very. I've gotten some quite fascinating books from the library on political corruption throughout history. You should read them, I think you'd like them."

Kitty eyed the books warily – several, she saw, were quite thick and looked very heavy.

"Maybe," she said. She held up the bag. "I've got several books of my own to read."

"Ah, I see. Well, I must be back to my book. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night."

She entered her flat, which was one of the smallest in the complex, yet more than roomy enough for her. It had four rooms – a sitting room, a bedroom, a toilet, and a tiny little kitchen that was really just an extension of the sitting room. Nevertheless, she needed only a bit of space.

For the rest of the evening she watched her movies and television shows, read the books she had bought, and wrapped the book she had gotten for her mother. At around eleven she turned off the television and went to bed. It took her some time to get to sleep, but she finally did, all thoughts about the incidents of the day gone from her mind.

-


	4. Four

Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been busy, unfortunately. However, on the bright side, this is a longer chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy. Don't sue me.

* * *

Four

-

Sundays were always busy at the store. The kid came in to work again, along with Anne and Ffoukes. I was half hoping for Eva, to be honest – she wasn't as pretty or as old as the waitress had been, but she was still a looker, and was around his age. I personally couldn't wait until they shared a shift. Eventually I thought he might even be able to talk to a girl without a noticeable stammer.

The store always opened at eight on Sundays to get the church crowd. This, of course, meant that I had to wake up at seven-thirty at the latest, which is not something that I should ever be inclined to do. I somehow managed to drag myself to the store on time, only to find that Anne had already opened it, as was the norm on Sundays, seeing as I never got there early enough to do so. The first hour was a hazy one – I was still practically asleep for most of the time. I'm sure I looked more like a zombie than the charming, attractive young man that I am.

At nine o'clock sharp the boy showed up. Ffoukes arrived thirty minutes later (incidentally, thirty minutes late, as well – the second earliest he'd ever shown up to work, sadly). Ffoukes did not antagonize the kid quite yet. He, like me, was still not quite coherent.

At around eleven everyone was properly awake and business was good. Ffoukes was handling the register, while the kid was tending to the customers and I was finishing the reorganization of the nonfiction section.

Eventually I bored with my menial task and drifted over to Ffoukes, who was waiting for a customer to buy something.

"How d'you like the new kid?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"Meh." He shrugged. "Seems a bit too eager to do his work, if you ask me."

"Yes, I thought you wouldn't like that about him," I said. Nathaniel glanced at us suspiciously but was then taken up with a customer. "His first day was yesterday. Very interesting."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah." I acted as casually as I could; when telling stories like these it's important to make your listener feel as if it's no big deal to you. Don't ask me why, it just seems like that always works. "A waitress from Druid's came in. He stuttered terribly. Kept forgetting what to do at the register. High comedy. I think it was the first girl he'd seen in his life."

"Really?" he asked, now actually slightly intrigued. This was a major achievement for me. I don't believe Ffoukes has ever really been intrigued by anything in his life.

"And then I took him over there and got her to wait on us," I continued, as if he hadn't said anything at all. "And so we got to arguing about this and that, and eventually he pretty much screamed out that I shouldn't be telling him to ask out a waitress he didn't even know. Naturally she was standing right behind him."

"Smooth." He grinned and slicked back his hair. "Maybe I should teach him a bit about how to pick up a lady."

I resisted the urge to make a derisive comment here. I had a really good one ready, too. Shame. "Don't," I said. "I've already tried."

"Yes, but what would you know about it, anyways?"

"That's what the argument was about, actually." It was my turn to slick back my hair. I'll let you know that I did it much more suavely than he did. "You know, I used to be quite the lady's man. Girls like humor, you know."

"I know," he said. "Why do you think I've got a huge collection of stand-up albums? Steve Martin one-liners are great for icebreakers."

"You use those, too?" I asked, actually impressed. "I used the same Martin one-liner for an entire year when I met girls. Worked every time."

"Really? Which one?"

"Ah, I can't remember… it might've been the one about the cat… or the woman on the pedestal… can't remember for the life of me, though…"

"Ahem."

We looked up. A customer. From the looks of it, she'd been standing there for a while, too. With my luck, she'd probably heard the entirety of our conversation.

Ffoukes took care of her, and she went on her way. We talked a bit more, and then I went off to do all the work I'd neglected during our first conversation. The kid flitted about helping customers, and Anne did whatever it was that she always did. Now that I think about it, I don't know exactly what she was always doing in the back room. Too late to ask her now, though.

Eventually I was pulled away from my categorization work as even more people poured into the bookstore and required my assistance (Nathaniel clearly wasn't very good at explaining things – I, on the other hand, consider communication a talent of mine). Several times Ffoukes offered to switch places with either of us, but I shot him down on each occasion. At the register he would at least be forced to pay attention; if I let him walk around the store as he pleased, he'd probably lie down behind a bookshelf and go to sleep. It wouldn't have been the first time.

The rest of the day was fairly mundane. Eva came in for her shift at two (our busiest time of the entire day). At five I let the kid off, and he reluctantly went home. An hour later I let Ffoukes go home, and it was just Eva, Anne, and I until we closed shop at half past ten. I locked up and went back to my flat and watched the telly for a bit. I was in no rush to go to bed – I nearly always took Mondays off, instead leaving Anne to head the store – but I soon fell asleep anyways. What with both Ffoukes and the boy, it had been a very tiring day.

On Monday I did a variety of exciting things, including, but not limited to: taking out the trash, watching the morning talk shows, going to the grocery store, and cleaning out my loo. The lattermost took the most time, as I spent quite a while meekly poking the bottom of the toilet with a plunger. I can be a bit of a freak about personal hygiene.

Apparently, from Anne's report over the phone later that night, everything went smoothly at the store. Jenkins and the kid were on staff and avoided any major issues, although there was apparently an incident regarding an oyster which she did not completely explain.

On Tuesday I returned to work. Eva and Ffoukes were on staff with me; Anne, the kid, and Jenkins had an off day. Again, nothing rather exciting happened. Life at a bookstore isn't exactly some adventure, you know.

However, on Wednesday, something interesting _did_ occur. It was a normal day; I was keeping shop with Anne and the kid, and after my lunch break I took up the register. Several customers, mainly businesspeople, filtered in and out of the store. I was playing tic tac toe against myself on a spare piece of paper (I was winning, too) when a voice interrupted my game.

"Hello, Bartimaeus."

I looked up and smirked in the way that action movie stars usually do. "Hello, Faquarl."

Right now you're probably wondering why the hell his name was Faquarl. Don't ask me – I don't know. All I can say is that Greek people are weird when it comes to naming their kids.

"I see business is booming," he drawled sarcastically. He had clearly noticed that he was one of two customers currently in the store.

"As always," I replied quickly. "How are things going at your store, then? Well, not your store, obviously – you're just the manager there. Let me rephrase: how are things going at the bookstore at which you are employed but in no way control or own?"

He involuntarily conceded a hint of a scowl.. "Things are going very well, thank you. I'm pleased to say we've been slightly more blessed in the area of business than you have been."

"Well, as I've always said, quality over quantity." Just so you know, I'd never said that prior to this conversation. When you get into an argument, though, sometimes you say things that aren't necessarily true. Don't think I'm some habitual liar or unreliable narrator or anything. It happens. Ask anyone.

"You've never said that," he responded, calling my bluff.

"How would you know, anyways?"

"I can tell when you're lying," he said simply. "I'm good at these things."

"Whatever. I've never lied in my life."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"Right." I regained my composure. This took several seconds, and it was silent for a brief period of time. "But our customers are fiercely loyal. They usually buy anywhere from five to eight books. I bet you can't say that about your corporate chain store."

Another lie. There went my reputation for honesty. Oh well.

"Idiots are like sheep," Faquarl said sagely. "They like to allow themselves to be herded together in one place for no particular reason."

I'm sure it was an apt metaphor, but I hate dissecting any type of allegory while I'm talking with someone. Actually, I hate dissecting any type of allegory when I'm reading, too. I guess it's somewhat peculiar that I'm a book store owner, then.

"See!" I exclaimed. "That's exactly why my customers are so loyal. Because you corporate types treat them like a bunch of sheep and whatnot."

He was unconvinced, to say the least. "Yes, and I'm sure you treat your customers so much better. I forgot for a moment how you've always been known for your kindness, Bartimaeus."

"Yep, that's me," I agreed.

"Indeed," he said, even more sarcastically. "I'll admit that your hypocrisy never ceases to amaze me."

"Same here." I paused, realizing the ambiguity of my statement. "Your hypocrisy, I mean. It never ceases to amaze me. Not my own. Because I'm not a hypocrite."

"Well said."

"Shut up."

His smirk hardly lessened. "I see your arguing skills have not diminished since the last time we talked."

"They've only gotten even better," I boasted. "Not that I was too shabby beforehand, either."

"Mmhm." He suddenly affected an inquisitive expression, appearing to be intensely curious about something. "Tell me, Bartimaeus, do you still employ the tactic of running away when someone else makes a good point during an argument? If I remember correctly it used to be one of your favorites. Very effective in silencing your opponent, with the unfortunate side effect of also ending the argument."

"Ah." I had only used that a few days earlier with Eva. Faquarl had always been eerily knowledgeable about my quirks and tendencies. "Of course not. Haven't done that in ages."

He didn't seem convinced. "We'll see about that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I rubbed the back of my head uncomfortably. "Listen, are you going to buy something or not? I've got work to do."

"Isn't part of your job attending to your customers?" he shot back with a smug smirk.

"Aha! So you _are_ going to buy something!"

"I didn't say I was a paying customer."

"Ah. Damn it." I sighed. "Well, really I'm only obliged to help out my paying customers. So unless you've actually got something to say that's of interest to me, go away."

"Tsk, tsk," he said. "Manners, Bartimaeus."

"Oh, shut up."

"Is it really such a chore to be polite?" he asked with obvious feigned innocence (feigned because I don't think Faquarl has ever truly been innocent in his life).

"To you, yes."

"I thought you might say something like that." Faquarl had always enjoyed dramatics. Which is actually slightly interesting, considering that he can also be pretty blunt at times, which completely goes against how he was drawing things out at the moment. He was a pretty weird dude, Faquarl. "Do you honestly think I came to speak with you because I enjoy your company?"

"Yes."

"That was rhetorical, you dolt."

"I know." I didn't.

"Of course." For some reason he wasn't buying it. I find this kind of thing happens to me a lot. I mean, I'm not _that_ much of a liar. Sure, I exaggerate things every once in a while, and occasionally even make something up, but who doesn't?

"Enough with the theatrics," I finally declared, slamming my fist on the counter for dramatic effect. What? I wasn't going to let him outdo me. I fully understood the ironic juxtaposition of my statement and my action when it happened. Really. "What'd you come here to talk with me about?"

"Nothing too major, really," he admitted. "I was in the neighborhood. Came by to see how business was doing."

"You're kidding me. There has to be something else. There has to be."

He said nothing for several seconds before continuing. "Well, I was slightly interested in something that's going on around here and wanted to see what you knew about it…"

The dreaded ellipses. Great. He was going to make me pull it out of him. Faquarl would be a wonderful evil mastermind; he's great at the whole "I know something you don't know and will slowly reveal it to you while you impatiently ask me what the hell is going on" thing.

"You know very well I don't know about it," I huffed. "Now tell me what it is already!"

"You don't know?" he asked, acting surprised. "I thought you would. _Everybody's_ been talking about it. It's big news."

"I'm sure it is," I agreed. With the way he was building it up, it would probably be some small thing I wouldn't even want to waste my time learning about. "So why don't you go ahead and tell me?"

"But that's no fun! We both know that I'm going to drag this out as long as I can."

"Yeah, you will," I grumbled. At this point, I wasn't even looking at him anymore. My eyes were flitting all over the place, and finally they were attracted to his left hand. "Hey, is that a ring? Since when have you had that?"

I had obviously caught him off-guard. "Uh… what?"

"The ring," I said. "Are you getting married or something."

He looked down at his hand and stared at the ring for several seconds. Then he sighed.

"I forgot how random you were, actually," he stated. He twisted his ring with his fingers. "And I doubt it's you deliberately using non sequitur, either. Though I'd be surprised if you even know what that means."

Yet again, I didn't. "That's not the point. What's with the ring? Did you get your lady a nice pretty rock, too? How many carats?"

"It's not a wedding ring, you buffoon," he shot back. "It's a family heirloom."

"Should've known that," I said. "I knew there was no chance that you'd gone off and gotten hitched."

"Listen, do you want to know why I came here or not?" he asked. He looked quite annoyed, he did. He was all red in his ridiculously cleanly-shaven cheeks.

"Ah. I'd forgotten about that. Sure."

"Thank God." He massaged his temples with his fingertips. "I swear you have the attention span of a three year-old."

"It's not the first time you've told me so."

"I didn't think it was, frankly," he said. "But anyways."

"Yes," I said quickly, eager to get him out the door, "the big news. Whatever you came to tell me."

"Yes. That." He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt importantly. "Well, I'm sure you know what's going on at Druid's tomorrow evening."

His knack for assuming that I knew things that I didn't was beginning to unnerve me.

"Um, yes." I put on my best poker face. I'm just as smart as Faquarl, you know. On this occasion he just held all the cards, to use another poker reference. "That one. Very big."

"My, you are stupid, aren't you?" he sighed.

I contorted my face into a pure expression of outrage and fury. Quite impressive, really. I even got those little lines around the eyes – not the wrinkles (of course, I don't have any wrinkles, as I'm not old at all), the other lines. Squint real hard and look into a mirror. You'll see what I mean.

"Me? Stupid?" I let out a sharp laugh. "Please. I'm the same Bartimaeus that has played two chess games at once versus two of the best players in the city – and won both games in less than five minutes. I solved three equations that puzzled my calculus professor back when I was in school, and the very next day I, in yet another fit of intellectual supremacy, was able to –"

"Just stop, I get it." He rubbed his palms against his forehead. Adding that to the temple massage, and I began think my youthful energy had worn him down a little bit. "Obviously you have no idea what's going on at Druid's, as usual, so I'll just go ahead and tell you. Simon Lovelace is speaking to the public there at seven tomorrow night, and apparently is going to take questions and whatnot."

"Ah," I said. "And why would I care?"

"I didn't think you would," he replied. "I just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to do some promotional work here as well. That's the last thing I need."

"You know me. I hate politics. Despise it. I wouldn't let some politician use my store as a place where he can sit comfortably and spout more lies."

"Ideally, yes, but I think you'd change your mind when you considered the amount of traffic it would bring to the store, and the subsequent amount of cash that would end up in your pocket."

"My bank account," I corrected him. "I hate carrying around a ton of money."

"Fine, your bank account," he repeated with even more energy, just to mock me.

"Thanks." I rapped my fingers against the counter dully. How had no customers come to interrupt our conversation and save me from this boredom? Was business that pathetic? Or was Faquarl just that ugly? "But you're right. I don't like politicians, but I'm not actually stupid enough to stand up for my ideals. I leave that to the real idiots. I'm smart enough to take money over morals."

"As am I. But if you're not hosting any sort of promotion bound to seek right-wing radicals and Lovelace-crazed right-wing girls, then I suppose I've got nothing to worry about." He suddenly looked around the empty bookstore and got a _very_ attractive smirk on his face. "Although actually, now that I think about it, I'm kind of sad to see that you're not hosting anything. You could use the business. My store can get _so_ crowded at times, it would be nice to have a place where I could send some of the leftovers."

"Oh, go to hell," I muttered, swirling in my chair to face my tic-tac-toe game.

"Pity," he said. "I was just about to leave, too."

It took me several seconds to process this new insult. (In my defense, I _was_ currently occupied with another very stimulating game of tic-tac-toe.) Finally I caught on and shot him an extra nasty look to make up for the time it had taken me to recognize his clever little shot.

"Call my store what you'd like," I said sharply, "but at least it's mine. I don't have to answer to any annoying corporate people about it, and I actually have the ability to make any and all important opportunities. And I get paid better than you do."

He looked like he was about to reply with a scathing comment before he stopped suddenly. "How do you know how much I get paid?"

"I'm just guessing," I replied. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell him I'd seen his tax forms that one time. It was just once. They were lying out on the counter, too. I mean, they were in a closed folder, but the folder didn't say that there were taxes inside. So it's totally his fault, really. "I make good money."

"Yet I'm guessing that you still haven't moved out of that dump, have you?" he asked. It was a tamer barb than I'd been expecting. I was slightly disappointed in him, to be honest. He should at least have made it interesting for me.

"It's not like your place is a palace, either." I finished a cat's game and began drawing another set of spaces on my paper. "And my flat's all right. I don't really need any better. I'm saving my money, just you wait. I'll have a real nice place in five years or so."

"If you say so." He checked his wristwatch and shook his head sadly. "I've spent much longer here antagonizing you than I had anticipated to when I came by. I think it's time for me to be going, then."

"Good riddance."

"Such kindness. I expected no less from you, Bartimaeus."

"I aim to please."

"As always." He bowed his head in mock respect. "Goodbye, then, Bartimaeus. I trust I will not see you there tomorrow night."

"You're going, then?" I asked. "After that whole speech about right-wing radicals and whatnot?"

"I _am_ right-wing, you know, even if I despise the radicals," he answered simply. "We all must deal with idiots in our lives, and with me it seems doubly true. But you're not going, are you?"

I thought about it for a moment and shrugged. "Dunno. It might be funny to see some of the liberals speak out. Maybe there'll be a fight. Those are always fun."

I wasn't even lying, either. I love political controversy. If anything I lean slightly to anarchism, if only because the riots are great prime-time TV.

"Well, with any luck, I won't be seeing you there." He straightened his shirt out with much well-practiced pompousness. "Goodbye, Bartimaeus."

"Goodbye, and good riddance," I replied in turn. He didn't even acknowledge my little shot at him. He just walked on out of the store without another glance backwards. Not very ceremonious at all. He needed to take some drama classes or something. That was just pathetic, even by his standards.

With Faquarl went the only interesting part of my day, not that I'd ever tell him that. For the rest of my time at the store it was more of the same – a customer here, a purchase there, and of course a bit of humor when a good-looking young lady asked the kid for assistance. I hadn't had that much fun since our visit to Druid's.

It was this, actually, that brought the idea to my mind. Just so you know, I'm being deliberately vague here. It sets the scene. Don't worry about it: it's a writer thing. Trust me, I know this stuff.

"Did you see that man that had a talk with me?" I asked him about fifteen minutes after Faquarl's departure, and directly after the incident with the young lady.

"Yes," he said, still flustered from his encounter with the mysterious opposite sex. "How could I not have? You talked forever."

"Yes, well, anyways, he was telling me that there's something going on at Druid's tomorrow –"

"Oh no you don't!" he stopped me, suddenly panicking. Really, I hadn't even said anything and he was all atwitter. "You're not tricking me like that again! I'm not going back there ever again if I can help it!"

"That's a pity. They have good coffee." I inspected my nails as if it their condition was of the utmost importance to me, while this issue was rather dull. "Have you heard of Simon Lovelace? He's giving a speech there. I think he might even take some questions."

He perked up noticeably, as I had guessed he would. Kids these days wouldn't know a politician they were kicked sharply in the behind by one, but I had guessed that he would know of Lovelace. The ambitious ones always pay attention to that stuff.

"Really? Can anyone go?"

By this he meant, "Is it free?" I wasn't sure, of course, but it probably was, being a public thing. That would suck if it wasn't.

"Yes," I said very convincingly. He didn't even doubt me for a second. "Completely free. They're trying to get a bunch of people out there."

While visibly excited, he still looked slightly unsure. Finally I quelled his anxieties.

"I dunno if I'll go, to be honest. I'm not one for politics. If you go you'll have to tell me about it."

This was a complete lie, of course (I seemed to be doing that a lot lately), but he perked up instantly. It was in my best interest to get him to go, in case you were wondering. Perhaps the girl would be working there again. You can say I'm not many things, but I am at the very least persistent. The incident at Druid's had been far too amusing to give up on the two so easily, as the incident with the attractive customer had reminded me.

"Perhaps I'll go," he said. He crossed his arms, as if he was still thinking about it. It couldn't be clearer that his mind was already made up about the subject, though. "It seems somewhat interesting – I'd like to hear what he has to say. And if you're not going to go then I won't be able to find out what he said from you, so I might as well go myself. If you don't go I could tell you about it, too, if you want me to."

"Ah, I don't know," I replied. His mind was set now, so I thought it safe to take a bit of a risk. "Perhaps I'll end up going anyways. I don't know. Maybe. But if I don't I might just take you up on your offer. Who knows, though – perhaps we'll just close up shop and all go to hear him talk."

He seemed only slightly perturbed by this, which was good news. I didn't want to scare him off by telling him I would be there, but I also didn't want him whining to me that I had gone after telling him I wouldn't. I think I avoided both nicely. Admit it. I'm smooth. It's the only way to describe me. (Well, that and handsome, charming, intelligent, charismatic, amazing… I could go on and on but I'll spare you.)

Besides that, the nothing of note occurred. Business as usual, really. At seven I sent the kid home, and at nine Anne and I closed up the store. I headed home, and when I reached my flat, I walked right in and plopped myself down on the couch after a terribly long day. For a couple of hours I ate popcorn and watched some movie I'd rented a week back and forgotten to return.

Unfortunately the movie turned out to be three and a half hours long. I hate those kind of movies. They're always overdone and boring as hell. After the first hour I was growing antsy. After the second hour I was just completely losing interest.

"Gregory," said the attractive leading lady with an overly concerned look, "you know that if you do this and fail that you'll –"

"Damn it, Lily, don't you think I know the consequences? Don't you think I know what will happen if I fail at this?" The chiseled leading man's anger subsided and he sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Damn it, Lily, just trust me. I know."

"Oh, Gregory!"

At this point I just couldn't take it any more. I groped around for the remote for several seconds, finally finding it next to the popcorn bag. I was just about to change it when I thought of something and grabbed the box of the DVD. Damn – it had a 12A rating. No sex scenes there. Now sure that there was no reason to watch this trash any more, I flipped to the local news. I was just about to change it to a late night show when I noticed the subject.

"It seems that Simon Lovelace is everywhere in the news lately, and tonight is no exception," said the news anchor, clearly reading off a teleprompter. "The businessman and prospective prime minister candidate will be visiting the Druid's coffeehouse tomorrow to talk about his future plans and to take questions on the, and I quote, 'aspects of finance and business with anyone just looking for a bit of advice.' I predict that he announces his candidacy for prime minister pretty soon here, Ernie – what predictions do you have as far as the forecast goes?"

Jeez. I hadn't even gone to Druid's yet and I was already sick of the guy. I imagined that the kid was probably putting up a poster of Lovelace in his room, and if he wasn't, he would be after tomorrow night. Blech. It's enough to make a guy sick.

I changed it to a late night show and grabbed a blanket. The host cracked a joke about one of the guest's past movies (a terrific flop) and soon my mind drifted off in other directions (hadn't he started out in that movie with the actress that just won that award?), Lovelace gone from my thoughts.

-


	5. Five

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy. All associated characters belong to Jonathan Stroud.

* * *

Five

-

Nathaniel woke on Thursday with a certain level of excitement. There was no morning dreariness – on the contrary, he was energetic. He could not wait to see Simon Lovelace in person, and perhaps even ask him a few questions. Surely Lovelace would have some advice for those aspiring to be as successful as he was. And it's not like Nathaniel would be doing anything else, anyways. Most nights after work he just came home and helped Mrs. Underwood around the house.

However, the thought of returning to Druid's was not a pleasant one. Hopefully the girl wouldn't be working that night. That would just be embarrassing. It was enough that the memory would undoubtedly live on in Bartimaeus's repeated retellings of it, which he was actually surprised had not occurred yet given his boss's amusement over the matter. The last thing he needed was another run-in with the girl, especially if it was witnessed by Bartimaeus. With luck the girl would have the night off and Bartimaeus would decide not to attend the event.

Even these thoughts could not dampen his mood, though. He had most of the morning off, as well, which only made things even better.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Underwood greeted him as he entered the kitchen. To his surprise, Mr. Underwood was sitting at the table. On most days he was at work by now. "I'm cooking up a bit of breakfast. Would you like any?"

"Yes, please." He sat down across from Mr. Underwood. "Do you not have work today, sir?"

"No, I do. However, there's an important meeting tonight, so since most of the staff will be staying later than usual, we're coming in a bit later this morning." He checked his watch and furrowed his brow. "Although I probably should be leaving, now that you mention it."

He stood and pushed in his chair. With a sigh he readjusted his watch and nodded towards Mrs. Underwood.

"Don't stay up for me, Martha. I'll be back late tonight." He looked at Nathaniel. "And are you working today?"

"Yes." Suddenly it occurred to Nathaniel that he had not told the Underwoods of his plans for that night. "And after work I'm going to Druid's for a while. Simon Lovelace is giving a speech there, and maybe even taking questions."

"Very well," Mr. Underwood said, nodding his approval. "Simon Lovelace is a very powerful man. You'd do well to try to emulate him."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Well, if that's that, then I suppose I'd better be off. I'll be in sometime late tonight."

With that he left, and Nathaniel and Mrs. Underwood were left alone.

"You can turn on the telly if you'd like, dear," she said as she flipped an egg on the pan. "It'll be a minute or two before it's done."

He took a moment to find the remote – it was under a newspaper on the table – and then spent several seconds flipping through the channels. As usual, there was nothing good on. A chess match, some zany cartoon, another talk show. Finally he settled on a movie that he thought he'd seen before.

"There we go," Mrs. Underwood said as she set a full plate in front of him. "Now, eat that up and then I'll need you to help me clean out the guest room. What time do you need to go in for work?"

"Not 'til one," he replied.

"You've got several hours, then. Don't worry; we should be able to finish pretty quickly."

Nathaniel took his time eating, and when he finished he set his plate in the sink and followed Mrs. Underwood into the guest room. Binders and scraps of construction paper were littered about the room, and photographs lay on the bed.

"Some of the ladies from down the street came over and were teaching me how to scrapbook." She smiled. "Needless to say, I wasn't very good at it. We ended up with a bit of a mess. Put the binders, scraps of paper, and photographs all in separate piles and I'll organize them later. Then we'll see what's left."

It took much longer than Nathaniel had expected to clean out the room – he had not realized just how much material the ladies had used. Most of the photographs were of people he didn't recognize, but several were of the Underwoods. In some they were quite young, which was genuinely shocking to him. The contrast between the twenty-five-year-old Mrs. Underwood and the present day Mrs. Underwood was enormous, although not unrealistic. Her eyes were exactly the same.

They finally finished getting up all the scraps and bits of paper. After they tidied up the bed, Mrs. Underwood stood back and surveyed the room.

"Looks good to me. Oh dear, look at the time. That _did_ take longer than I had thought it would."

Nathaniel checked his watch; it was almost noon. He'd have to be leaving shortly.

"Are you hungry, then?" Mrs. Underwood asked.

He shook his head. "No."

"I didn't think you would be." She walked out of the guest room and he followed her into the kitchen. "I suppose you'll have to be leaving in an hour or so. Have you gotten anything back from the universities?"

"No, not yet."

"That's not all too surprising. The school counselor said for late entries it could take longer." She flipped through a stack of mail absent-mindedly. "That reminds me – she said she was still working on getting you a scholarship, as well, but she thinks that she'll be able to get one for you."

"That's good."

"Yes. She's a nice lady. Arthur has almost finished the paperwork for your student loan. You'll just need to sign it."

"Okay. Just tell me when."

He spent the rest of his time at the house watching a melodramatic soap opera and flipping through the newspaper. Finally, at fifteen minutes to one, he said goodbye to Mrs. Underwood and left for the bus stop.

He had to only wait a few moments before the bus pulled up to the stop and the doors swung open.

"You again?" came a grunt from inside the bus. It was the same driver as it had been on his first day at work.

"Yes, me again," he said. He took his seat at the front of the bus and slowly the doors swung closed and the bus lurched forwards.

It was yet another uneventful ride, and when he got off it was two minutes to one. He broke into a sprint for the rest of the way, and was panting by the time he flung himself into the front doors of the store.

"You're late." Bartimaeus, of course.

"No I'm not. I'm thirty seconds early."

"Same thing."

"You want me around the store, then?" he asked.

"Yes. Jenkins is in the back, and Eva was helping out the customers, but her shift is over now."

Just as Nathaniel was moving to go to find a customer Eva blew past him and towards the doors.

"Goodbye, Bart," she said hurriedly. "I'll be here tomorrow."

"Good. Adios."

There was actually a fair amount of business, and Nathaniel was kept busy for a while. After an hour or so things slowed down again as the lunch crowd began to go back to work. Jenkins came out several times from the back room to log something or whatnot, and each time Nathaniel avoided him successfully. He'd quickly found that Jenkins was nothing more than an annoyance and never worth the time it took to talk to him. He had a peculiar suspicion that the other employees felt the same way.

At around three Bartimaeus beckoned him over to the front desk, and he approached reluctantly.

"I'm going out for a bit," said Bartimaeus, standing up from his seat at the register. "I haven't had a proper lunch break yet and I'm starving. I need you to handle this 'til I get back."

"Fine. And the customers? Jenkins is in the back room."

Bartimaeus hesitated for a moment, as if thinking, but then he just shrugged. "Oh well. It's not going to be too busy, anyways. I'm sure you can handle whatever customers we have. And we don't want to encourage Jenkins to come back out. I want him in that back room as long as humanly possible."

"Very well." Bartimaeus walked out from behind the counter, and Nathaniel took the seat he had previously occupied. "Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. Remember, the thing at Druid's starts at seven o'clock sharp, which means he might show up somewhere after eight if we're lucky."

"I take it you're going?" Nathaniel asked, deflated.

"Probably. Don't look so down, I'm not asking you to stay by my side during it or anything." He pushed open the door. "If that's that, ta ta. Good luck with Jenkins."

He left, and Nathaniel was alone. He knew that there was at least one or two customers in the store, but they were lost somewhere in the maze of bookshelves, hidden from sight.

Jenkins didn't emerge from the back room again. If he did, Nathaniel didn't see him, and they were both the happier for it. A few customers came in and out, but it was nothing he couldn't handle, and no one appeared to need assistance. He knew that soon business would pick up a bit as people got off from work and school, and he hoped that Bartimaeus would return soon. He might be able to handle several customers efficiently by himself, but he wasn't egotistical enough to think that he could handle a good deal more.

Bartimaeus reappeared at around four, just as more customers were beginning to enter. Nathaniel started to rise from his seat, but Bartimaeus stopped him with a quick hand gesture.

"Don't bother," he said, heading for the children's section. "I've been sitting on my bum all day, I can use the exercise."

The hours passed slowly at the register, although thankfully he was kept busy with a steady flow of customers. Without the work, Nathaniel was sure that he would have bored to death. Finally, at fifteen minutes to seven, Bartimaeus came walking back to the counter, Jenkins in tow.

"Up you go," he ordered, jerking his head towards Nathaniel. "We're closing up for the night so we can go to Lovelace's speech. Don't worry about clearing out the store, we've already done it."

He had gotten up almost as soon as the words were out of Bartimaeus's mouth. This day had been another dull one; all he'd had to look forward to was Lovelace's speech. He and Jenkins followed Bartimaeus out of the store, and they waited for him as he locked the front doors. When he finished they crossed the street and approached the coffeehouse, where a small crowd had already formed.

"Great, I knew there'd be a bunch of people," Bartimaeus muttered. Nathaniel made for the hostess, but Bartimaeus's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Don't bother, it doesn't really matter anyways. We might as well just find our own seats. Unless you're really hung up on getting away from me, that is."

Nathaniel thought about it for a moment. Really it was rather silly. What were the chances that the girl was here, anyways? And what was the worst that Bartimaeus could do? Although the prospect of sitting with Jenkins for an extended period of time _was_ a dreary one.

"No, it'll be easier to secure a table as a group," Nathaniel lied, shrugging. "Besides, I'd rather sit with you than total strangers."

"Aw, shucks, Nat. I'm flattered."

"Don't get used to it."

Bartimaeus grinned back at him. "Wasn't planning on it, incidentally."

They found a table right near the front, a makeshift stage with a shoddy sound system that was blasting out some sixties rock anthem. They sat in relative silence, only interrupted by Bartimaeus's occasional humming or haphazard attempts at singing.

"Na na na, na na na na," he sung in an absent voice, fingers drumming against the table, "na na na na... hey –"

"Oh hell," Nathaniel interjected, ducking under the table. He had just seen the girl again; apparently she was present, waiting on people that had come to see Lovelace. Just great. Hopefully Bartimaeus wouldn't notice her.

"Aha. It seems your favorite lady is here, Nat."

He sighed from underneath the table. No such luck, then.

"I bet you're feeling like an idiot right now, aren't you? Just hope she doesn't look over here and see that you've for some reason got your torso tucked under the table. That would just be embarrassing."

"Shut up," he hissed. Jenkins sniggered. "You too. Is she gone yet?"

"Not quite. She just dropped her pen and had to bend over and get it. Oh my, look at that bum. If only I was fifteen years younger." He chuckled. "Oh Nat, don't get so worked up. I'm only joking. If I was serious about it I'd already be back at my flat preparing a nice sensual bath with her, if you know what I mean. Again, joking!"

Nathaniel was not stupid enough to reply to Bartimaeus's taunts, however. He waited under the table for several more seconds, quickly growing uncomfortable.

"Is she gone now?"

"Just about. Yes, there she goes. She's out of sight now. Pity." Nathaniel sighed and removed himself from under the table. Unsurprisingly, Bartimaeus was smirking. "That was so idiotic, you know. You could've just sat like a normal person and dealt with it if she did see you. I mean, it's not that big of a deal."

"Really childish," Jenkins agreed. "I'd think that you were five years old if you didn't know any better."

"Oh, be quiet for once, Jenkins," Nathaniel snapped. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. "When's this thing going to start, anyways? We've been here forever."

"Quit your whining." Bartimaeus leaned back in his chair and glanced about the area with a disinterested look on his face. "We can't have been here for more than five minutes. I'm sure this will start late, as well, these sort of things always do. I doubt that Lovelace is even here yet."

"Great."

"I know, don't you love politicians?"

They sat there for several minutes, although it felt rather like several decades. Jenkins was the only one to attempt conversation, and he was quickly quieted by both Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. Finally, just as Nathaniel was about to call over a waiter and get a coffee, there was a smattering of applause amongst those gathered at the coffeehouse, and several even got up out of their seats. When he looked toward the stage, he realized why.

A handsome man with straight black hair and stylish glasses was striding out to the center of the stage, microphone in hand. He was an impressive sight, Simon Lovelace: he simultaneously walked with an air of both confidence and calmness, and he clearly had the ability to control a room with only a minimal amount of effort. He was dressed stylishly to boot, and Nathaniel felt both fiercely envious and in awe of this seemingly all-powerful man.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, affecting a look of extreme modesty. "Please, take your seats. Hopefully we'll be here for a while!"

Almost everyone remained standing, Nathaniel included. Jenkins sat down; Bartimaeus, however, did not, seeing as how he hadn't stood up in the first place.

"Now, please, sit back and enjoy a nice cup of coffee. I believe waiters will be attending everyone throughout tonight's events. But enough with the pleasantries – to the point."

He smoothed back his hair and flashed a toothy smile at the group. "When I was five years old, my parents died in a train accident. I was passed along to several foster homes until I came under the care of a man named Maurice Schyler. Mr. Schyler was the manager of a large department store, and later oversaw an entire chain of stores. From the time I was eight years old, he taught me everything he knew about business. I owe my success to him. In fact, he's here tonight – would everyone please give him a hand?"

The attention of the crowd turned to a man calmly standing behind Lovelace. He did not look incredibly happy about being singled out but hid his displeasure fairly well. He had numerous scars across his face, although they were hidden by the man's wrinkles and his thin beard. He raised a hand in recognition of the applause and then retreated further behind the stage.

"Oh, don't be so modest, Maurice! Just like him, really. It's hard to even get him out in public." Lovelace grinned, and Nathaniel had the feeling that this was a well-rehearsed joke. Schyler did not appear at all surprised by this turn of events. "Now, with Maurice's encouragement, I enrolled at Oxford, and was able to complete my education in three years. In another two years I had achieved my Masters Degree in Business and Finance. I was eager and ambitious; I started out at Pinn Industries as a salesman. My hard work and dedication was quickly recognized, and within four years I was an assistant to Sholto Pinn himself. As much as I had learned from Maurice, I learned perhaps even more from Mr. Pinn. Suffice it to say that he was a ruthless, yet genius, businessman.

"Eventually Mr. Pinn offered me an opportunity: stay on with him for several more years to be groomed for the job of CEO, which a man named Gordon Simpkins had held. Mr. Simpkins was planning on retiring, and Mr. Pinn offered me the chance to become the youngest CEO in the history of a major public company. However, I felt I had learned all I could at Pinn Industries. I gathered together a number of people I had befriended at the company, and together we formed a new business entity, which you all now know as the Lovelace-Lime Corporation."

He took a sip of water from a glass that had previously been sitting on a stool next to him. "My good friend Rufus Lime served as the other main partner in our new business and like me was young and motivated. The first year was a tough one; business was scarce, and we were quickly burning through our personal finances. However, that first year taught me more about business than I could ever hope. For the first time I was doing things myself, and I was paying the price for my mistakes. With long hours and pure will power, we built the basic infrastructure of our business with our colleagues, and in our second year of business we actually made a profit!"

There was a peal of laughter amongst the audience, and Lovelace allowed himself a smile. He waited for the noise to die down before continuing.

"Our third year the business's revenues boomed, and in the fourth they skyrocketed. By our fifth year we decided to go public. Now, in only our eleventh year, we are one of the largest businesses in the country and are quickly taking our business further across the globe, all while successfully expanding into several different areas. But you're probably wondering – how did we do it?"

He smiled again. "The number one factor, my friends, was this: luck. Yes, it hurts to hear it, and even to say it. But what if I had not been taken in by Maurice Schyler? What if I had not been employed by Sholto Pinn? What if I had not met Rufus Lime? Luck undoubtedly has played a large role in my success, and I acknowledge it. However, there _are_ several other factors as well, thankfully."

There was more laughter, and Lovelace took another sip from his glass of water.

"The number two thing that has led to my success, as clichéd as it may sound, is hard work. There have been times when I have gone in to work at five in the morning and not left until past midnight. There have been times when I worked weekends for two months in a row. One year, I didn't take a vacation at all. But I've since learned something equally as important – to scale back. Such a hectic schedule is both physically and mentally draining. I think it's important to kick back every once in a while and relax… although only in moderation!"

Again he protruded chortles from many of the attendees. Lovelace gave another cat-like grin and walked to the far side of the stage with relaxed, confident strides. Nathaniel noticed the waitress standing over there; she was looking at Lovelace with a look of complete boredom. Despite himself he smiled.

"The number three thing is to get a good education. I cannot stress this enough – you have no idea how much easier things will be for you. I've known men and women who never went to a university, and you would not believe how much it hampered them." The girl turned to the table she was waiting and began collecting glasses. Noticing Bartimaeus looking at him from the corner of his eye, Nathaniel directed his attention back to Lovelace. "I credit my time at Oxford with helping me with my rapid promotions at Pinn Industries and my success with my own business. In order to be successful, you must know how to learn from those who are more experienced than you – I think I was able to do so with Maurice, Mr. Pinn, and all of my university professors, and that has been very important for me."

He clasped his hands together suddenly and surveyed the audience. "So! I've talked long enough, I think. Would anyone like to ask a question?"

A flurry of hands raised all at once. Lovelace looked around for a bit before pointing to a man in front.

"Yes, you. Ask away."

"Are you going to be running for prime minister?" asked the man loudly. There was a large amount of cheering from the crowd, and Lovelace chuckled.

"That's a question I'm still asking myself, honestly," he replied. Nathaniel could tell he was enjoying the limelight – he'd obviously been asked this question many times before. "I'm currently taking a sabbatical from my job at Lovelace-Lime, and I have thought of running for office, although that office may not necessarily be that of the prime minister. I've been disappointed with many of our current leaders, and I feel they've made promises they haven't kept. If I do decide to run for office, and am lucky enough to be elected, I can promise you that I will do my best to serve the people and end the corruption that we have seen for far too long!"

There was more cheering. Across the table Bartimaeus rolled his eyes.

"Yeah right," he said darkly. "I've no doubts Lovelace is just as corrupt as the rest. Just look at the way he enjoys all of this attention. He's another power-hungry prick, just like the politicians he's denouncing."

A woman was called on.

"Mr. Lovelace! What are your thoughts on the current prime minister? Have you talked with him at all?"

"Yes, I have, actually," Lovelace replied. He let out a deep, regretful sigh. "Unfortunately, whenever I change the subject to the corruption he has allowed to run rampant or the foreign relations crisis we are currently in the middle of, he changes the subject to something more of his pleasing. He's a cunning man, Mr. Devereaux. I'll give him that. Most politicians are cunning – they want not what is best for the people but the power they have sought after for so long! Their propaganda may tell you differently, but do not listen. If I do run, I can promise you this: together we will rise up, and together we will make a stand!"

By now the crowd was absolutely raucous, and Lovelace pumped his fist into the air to cap it all off. Bartimaeus snorted.

"What a hypocrite," he said disdainfully. "As if that isn't textbook propaganda itself. I'm surprised he hasn't edited in his face on some old Nazi and Soviet posters yet. That's the next logical step for him to take in his pathway to the corruption he so adamantly speaks out against."

An elderly man now stood, and the audience quieted some so that he could be heard.

"Mr. Lovelace, you appear to be of a sharp mind and a good temperament. But what do you say of the economy? We shall need more than a positive attitude to fix that!"

Lovelace grinned and flexed out his hands in front of him with a great deal of energy. "Aha! That's more to my liking! I may be many things, my fair citizens, but above all I am a businessman! The economy today deeply troubles me. I believe that in order to rebuild our country's financial might, we must start from ground zero. First we must address our education system. Did you know that by age twelve, a Japanese student has learned more than the average English sixth-former? Education is where it starts. It will not be immediate, but it will have its effects."

"And just where do you propose we get all of this money?" asked a curly-haired man in the back. "Pull it out of national defense?"

"No, no – that mustn't happen." Lovelace shook his head. "We must become more cost-effective in all areas of our government. Only through shrewd spending can we get our country back on track. We are in need of ideas, not bills or coins. We must reform our education system in a cost-effective way, and the same with our other government agencies. We must cut down on the trifles of bureaucracy if we wish to save our country!"

"Hear, hear!" shouted someone, and the crowd voiced their agreement. Lovelace smiled, looking quite satisfied with himself.

At this point a woman walked onto the stage with her own microphone. She had a calm aura, and Nathaniel could tell she was used to the limelight.

"Now, Mr. Lovelace will be wrapping up his questions here," she said. There was a lot of groaning in the audience, and Lovelace himself shook his head.

"Oh, don't be such a nag, Amanda! We've got plenty of time!"

There was a roar of applause. Amanda looked irritated.

"Unfortunately, we have an eleven o'clock flight, Mr. Lovelace, although I know how you love talking to the good citizens." More applause. "But seriously, Mr. Lovelace. We _do_ have to go."

"Oh, you can be such a bother sometimes, Amanda," Lovelace replied. There were several hoots and hollers of agreement. "But, like most women, she is right more often than not. I suppose we will have to cut this short. I have not made up my mind about whether I will run for any sort of office, but regardless of that, I do believe that together we can take a stand and make a difference! I must tell you good night, fellow citizens, but in our hearts we all know that liberty never sleeps!"

The place erupted into absolute chaos at this point. The crowd roared, and everyone that was not already standing jumped to their feet, save for Bartimaeus. Several people even resorted to standing on the tables, and Nathaniel could see several waiters and waitresses unsuccessfully trying to coax them to jump back down.

"He may be an absolute prick," Bartimaeus shouted over all of the uproar, "but I'll give him this – he knows how to control a crowd."

It was impossible to disagree. If not for a protective barrier of intimidating security officers, Nathaniel was certain that the crowd would have taken Lovelace on their shoulders and marched him down to Whitehall at that very instant.

"It's too bad he's leaving," Nathaniel shouted back. "I would've liked to ask him a question."

"Then do it," Bartimaeus responded nonchalantly.

"I wouldn't be able to get to him if I tried."

"You're a smart boy. I'm sure there's a way around all of that."

Nathaniel did not know why he took Bartimaeus's advice, or even what he was planning to ask Lovelace. However, when he looked back on it all, he would identify this decision to go after Lovelace as the time when everything changed, and not necessarily for the better, either.

It was difficult to see over the crowd, much less navigate through them. At first Nathaniel deemed his task impossible; the line of security might have well been a brick wall. Just when he was about to give up he noticed there was a back alley around the corner of the coffeehouse and what looked like a dumpster. Surely there was a way from inside the building back into the alley. It was perfect. Unless, of course, there was security there as well. He tried not to think about this possibility.

With much effort he made his way through the audience, which was still on its feet and still clapping raucously. Lovelace was still in sight and was right outside his car, which seemed to be parked right next to the alley. For once luck seemed to be on Nathaniel's side. He pulled on the door and found it was unlocked, and he entered quickly and quietly. Inside the coffeehouse there was a flurry of activity – it was easy to tell that the staff was struggling to keep up with the business that had accompanied Lovelace's visit.

He looked around for several moments for a back exit, and within seconds he had found it. He stopped in his tracks and thought for several seconds about just what precisely he would ask Lovelace. It would be unnecessarily embarrassing to have gone all of this way to ask something of Lovelace and not even have something to ask him. However, his ruminations were soon cut short by other voices around the corner and behind the counter.

"Should we start preparing to close up, George?" It was a woman's voice.

"In fifteen minutes or so, we might still get some purchases after all that," said a man. "Where's Gladys? She was supposed to ask Lovelace to autograph a photo for us."

"Dunno. Probably fawning over him. I think she was complaining of a burn on her hand, though, from the decaf machine. Ask someone else to do it."

At this point he began to panic. What if they saw him? What if they threw him out? He really did not want Bartimaeus reminding him of the time he got thrown out of Druid's for next six months. If he was going to act, he must act now. It was the only option.

Again, hindsight would offer Nathaniel a much clearer view of the situation. Really, the notion of getting thrown out was rather silly. The shop was still open, after all, and there might've even been customers inside for all he knew. If he had just ignored the voices and gone outside at that moment, he would've avoided the forthcoming incident altogether and possibly even been able to ask Lovelace something. On the other hand, if he had listened to the conversation for a few seconds longer, he would've learned of something that would've convinced him, in his sudden and newfound panic, not to go outside at all.

But unfortunately for Nathaniel, his timing was impeccable, as it always seemed to be. Taking a deep breath, he walked forward to the door and hesitated for a moment. He chastised himself mentally for his nervousness. He would go outside, ask a question or just introduce himself, and be done with it. That was all.

His thoughts recollected, he turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open almost surprisingly easily – for some reason he had expected it to be locked, just to annoy him. He didn't even bother looking to his right where the dumpsters were. He could already hear Lovelace's voice to the other side, and slowly he made his way around the corner, his body hugging the wall for dear life.

It was beginning to get dark out, but he could see that Lovelace was on the phone, facing away from him. Nevertheless, he retreated behind a jutted-out part of the wall until he was almost completely hidden by shadows. He could no longer see all of Lovelace, but he could hear him nearly perfectly.

"Ms. Harknett, I assure you, you do not want to cross me," Lovelace was saying. He turned briefly so that his profile was revealed, and Nathaniel saw none of the charm or kindness he had displayed only several minutes beforehand. "What happened between us was a mistake, and I hope you do not compound that mistake by attempting to blackmail me."

Nathaniel bit his lip. Something was going on here; Lovelace was perhaps not entirely the hero he portrayed himself as. That, at least, was evident.

"Ms. Harknett, I must urge you once again: keep this quiet. I will compensate you handsomely for your assistance. However, you do not want me as your enemy." The woman on the other end said something, and Lovelace scowled. "I am not trying to threaten you, Ms. Harknett, but you are making it exceedingly difficult not to do so. If you cooperate with me you will be rewarded, but if you insist on defying me I might have to turn to alternate methods."

The woman said something now, but Lovelace's eyes were somewhere else: the woman, Amanda, was approaching. He spoke suddenly and simply into the phone:

"I apologize. I have to go. Do not worry, Ms. Harknett, we will speak about this at a later time."

He hung up the phone and smiled at her as she drew nearer to him.

"Everything good?"

"Yes," she replied. "Who was that?"

"Woman from one of the universities," he said smoothly. "She wanted to talk to me about my speech."

"Ah." Amanda took his hand and looked up at him with an innocent expression. "You should tell her to talk to me. You don't need to deal with that."

"Oh, don't worry, I can take care of it."

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "We both know that's not true."

At this point Nathaniel thought it would be a good idea to leave. His head was spinning; Lovelace was clearly caught up in something that no one could have ever guessed. Had that been a bribe, and then a threat? It was all too much all at once. He decided to head back into the coffeehouse, and this would end up being his biggest mistake. If he had known what would come next, he would have taken his chances going the other way and trying to sneak past Lovelace's line of security. However, he did not do so; he was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice that Lovelace had drawn perilously close, that he would only be at most two metres away. In the future Nathaniel would come to the conclusion that fate was conspiring against him, and that this event was unavoidable, and perhaps that was very well true.

No matter what the consequences, he decided to step out of the shadows and try to make his way around the corner. It was then that he took a blind step forward and everything went to hell.

-


	6. Six

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

* * *

Six

-

As was her routine, at ten o'clock on Thursday Kitty left her flat for the coffeehouse. Mr. Button was not out today; in fact, the streets were rather quiet for a weekday morning. She was not particularly looking forward to the day's events, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Lovelace would be just another suave politician who attracted a bunch of hooligans looking for a leader to rally around. Waiting on such a group was never fun.

When she got to Druid's she was met by George out front. He looked very busy and very stressed and was already sweating – not a good sign.

"Hullo, Kitty," he huffed. "You're exactly who I was hoping to see, incidentally. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind working all the way through to the end of the night. I know you were anticipating having a break before Lovelace's thing, but one of the other waiters just called in sick."

Kitty spoke through clenched teeth, trying her best to control herself. "They called in sick?"

"Yeah, apparently he's got a terrible fever." George ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. "Look, I'll give you a longer lunch break. I'm sorry, but we're expecting a huge crowd tonight, and we don't have anyone to help us out beforehand. We really need you to be here."

Kitty forced herself to look away, knowing that if she looked at George right then she risked punching him in the face, and that would be even more of a pain than the politician's hooligans. She had been looking forward to her previously promised break as a respite before the madness that would be Lovelace's event, which she knew would be very draining both physically and mentally. She already had picked out a place to eat dinner, but now those plans were ruined. Great.

At last, she sighed and looked back at him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but sure. You owe me, though. Remember that."

"Don't worry, I will," he said, somehow managing to laugh and frown at the same time. "Oh, I'm so relieved that I could hug you right now, but that might violate some sexual harassment laws and I really don't want to get into that. Thank you so much, though, and I'll remember, I promise!"

"All right."

"Good. Don't get yourself too tired out – we've got a long day ahead of us!"

He gave her one last harried smile before hurrying off to do something else. Kitty just shook her head and went to go set her things down. George really needed a vacation.

It was in all aspects a regular day, although you couldn't tell by the way George was scurrying about here and there making preparations for Lovelace's speech. Business was normal, and shortly after two she finally took her lunch break. She made sure to spend all of her allotted time (and then some), and she perused several shops before returning to the coffeehouse. On her way back she was just about to cross the street, towards the book store she'd been in several days before. A man was crossing the street right as she was, and when she drew closer she saw that it was the man that had come in the week before with the boy.

"Hullo there," he greeted her as they approached the same corner, grinning. "You working tonight?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she replied. "Are you coming?"

"Probably, and definitely now. It'll be great to see Nat try to avoid you."

She made no effort to hide her confusion. "Nat?"

"The kid," he clarified. "He's coming, too."

"Oh." She narrowed her eyes and surveyed him with a degree of suspicion. "Just so you know, I'm not going to go out of my way to embarrass him just for your sick amusement. I've got better things to do."

"I know," he said. He grinned again. "But I tip well."

She allowed herself a smile. "Ah. Bribery. I should've expected it from you. I get these sorts of offers from all the creepy thirty-somethings that come by the store, although I don't think they're tipping for the same reasons that you are."

"There's nothing wrong with paying for a favor." He put his hands in his pockets and glanced down the road. "I'll let you get back to work now. I'm going out to some new Italian place. I heard good things about it and am fully planning to stuff myself senseless, so don't be getting your hopes up that I might stop by for a cup of coffee. I'm sorry, dear, but I don't think we were meant to be. That's just me being honest."

"Don't worry, I won't," she replied smoothly. "And that place _is_ really good, I had lunch there yesterday."

"Very good." He mock-saluted her. "Ta ta, then. Do stop by tonight and chat up Natty boy, I might just bring my camera if you do. I would like to get it on video this time."

"Don't count on it," Kitty stated. "I should be heading back to work. Goodbye."

"Sayonara."

He headed off down the street, and she watched him grow smaller and more obscured amongst the throng of people cluttering the sidewalks. He was an odd duck, whoever he was. She felt somewhat sorry for the boy, Nat. She imagined his boss taunting him with subtle jibes throughout the workday. Poor kid.

Other than her encounter with the man from the book store, nothing of any interest occurred for quite a while. As seven o'clock drew nearer, George grew more and more frantic; at six he delivered an order to Gladys, with whom Kitty had been chatting.

"Tell everyone else we're closed for another forty-five minutes," he said in his most authoritative tone. "Some of Lovelace's people are here to get the stage together, and we don't need to be worrying about any customers in the meantime."

Before they could say anything he was gone, and Gladys gave Kitty a wry look as she turned back to face her.

"He really needs to slow down," she commented. "If he keeps up at this pace his pacemaker will explode."

"He has a pacemaker?"

Gladys shrugged. "He will after this."

It was odd to see the coffeehouse devoid of customers. However, Kitty was still kept plenty busy: George had everyone up and about putting up decorations and preparing food. It was clear that Lovelace's people were experienced at this sort of thing, however. In only minutes a makeshift stage was erected and the workers were testing the sound system to surprising success.

At six-thirty they finished, and even George was satisfied with their work.

"Very good," he said. "Not great, but oh well. Gladys, go let everyone know we're open now and start seating people. The rest of you, get back to your normal stations. Hopefully Lovelace will actually show up on time."

It appeared there was already a small crowd of people waiting outside when Gladys opened up the store, and within seconds Kitty was waiting several tables. At one point she saw from the corner of her eye the man from the bookstore; she didn't bother looking for the boy. He was probably hiding under the table or something else equally ridiculous.

Seven came and passed and Lovelace still did not show. When Kitty went inside to register several checks, George was vocal about his displeasure.

"Effing politicians," he grumbled from behind the counter. "I knew he was going to be late, I just knew it. Of course, his people say he'll be here and that he's always on time and whatnot. What a load of trash. Bloody politicians."

Kitty ducked her head down so George could not see her grin. He continued to mutter under his breath about Lovelace for a minute or so, until another waitress burst in through the door.

"Lovelace is here," she announced hurriedly. "Brought a whole troupe with him, too."

"Thank God," George replied, relieved. "Let me get out there and talk to him. We need to get him up there as soon as possible, I think the customers are getting restless."

It took several minutes for everything to be sorted out, apparently, but in a matter of minutes Lovelace appeared onstage to much applause, with many people even getting to their feet and whistling as well.

"Why don't you just be a good girl and clap?" Gladys asked her, smirking ever-so-slightly.

"My hands are sore," she retorted, and Gladys snorted. "He's receiving enough adulation as it is, I really don't think he'll notice if I don't join in."

"I thought you would say that."

Lovelace beamed and beckoned for the crowd to sit down. "Thank you, thank you. Please, take your seats. Hopefully we'll be here for a while!"

Almost no one sat down, and Lovelace's smile widened. He was a handsome man, yet not someone Kitty would particularly like to chat up: there was a threatening look about him, and he was handsome in a dangerous sort of way, if that was at all possible. From what she knew of him, he was a businessman, and from what she knew of businessman, they were ruthless. Lovelace did not appear to be an exception to the rule.

"Now, please, sit back and enjoy a nice cup of coffee. I believe waiters will be attending everyone throughout tonight's events." ("Too right we are," Kitty muttered irritably.) "But enough with the pleasantries – to the point."

It was then that Kitty decided to focus on waiting and stop listening to Lovelace, as the former paid much more than the latter. She still caught bits and pieces of his speech – something about a mentor and a business, and something else about university that made her bite her lip and busy herself with cleaning every crumb from one table – but for the most part she ignored him and kept to herself.

To her surprise, when she went back inside to fetch a couple of cappuccinos, she found Gladys behind the counter.

"Don't ask," she said before Kitty could even open her mouth. "Someone's slagged off, apparently, and George has no idea where they are. Thus…" She motioned to the coffee machine and counter disdainfully.

"Oh, poor you," Kitty sighed, affecting a voice used by a heroine in a Makepeace film she'd seen. "You're so overworked already. How could he do this to you?"

"Shut up, you." Gladys scowled at her as she filled up a cup of decaf. "Did you want something or not?"

"Two French Vanilla cappuccinos, actually."

"I'm on it. May be a few minutes before I get them to you, but nevertheless, I'm on it."

"I guess I should stay here, then, instead of going outside and listening to Lovelace," Kitty said. She imitated George's serious, terse posture. "I should probably make sure you get the orders right."

"Yes," Gladys agreed, "they were very tricky orders. I could mess up and go to a machine that doesn't say, 'French Vanilla Cappuccino' on it. Do watch and make sure I don't screw up. It's such a difficult thing to do."

"If I must."

Suddenly Gladys swore, and her hand recoiled from the coffee machine.

"What happened?" Kitty asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Burned myself," she spat, cradling her arm with her good hand. "Why on earth are these things so hot? I mean, are we trying to melt someone's mouth? At least there should be gloves back here for whoever does this so they don't get burned!"

Kitty laughed. "Perhaps we were right. I really do need to watch over you, don't I?"

"If only looks could kill," Gladys muttered. She made a face somewhere between a frown and a grimace. "Now let me get those cappuccinos so you'll get out of my hair and stop irritating me."

She did so with shocking speed, and in only a minute or so was ushering Kitty out of the door.

"Off you go!" she said as she beckoned for Kitty to leave. "Leave poor old Gladys alone in her misery."

When Kitty got outside Lovelace was still speaking, and was now apparently taking questions, even.

"Most politicians are cunning – they want not what is best for the people but the power they have sought after for so long!" he cried with just enough vigor to rile up the crowd even more but just enough restraint to remain dignified. "Their propaganda may tell you differently, but do not listen. If I do run, I can promise you this: together we will rise up, and together we will make a stand!"

Kitty nearly chortled at this new lie, but it appeared everyone else at the coffeehouse was buying it. She just shook her head and delivered the cappuccinos. She then began taking more orders, and by the time she had finished, Lovelace was being ushered offstage, although the crowd was in no mood to see him go.

"Oh, you can be such a bother sometimes, Amanda. But, like most women, she is right more often than not." Many women and even a good deal of the men nodded at this. "I suppose we will have to cut this a bit short. I have not made up my mind about whether I will run for any sort of office, but regardless of that, I do believe that together we can take a stand and make a difference! I must tell you good night, fellow citizens, but in our hearts we all know that liberty never sleeps!"

Kitty had to hurry back inside after hearing this. The crowd was of a mob mentality by now, and she did not think it would be a wise move if they saw her deriving such humor from Lovelace's pomp.

When she entered she found that Gladys was no longer there, and that someone else – Rebecca or Robin or something like that – had taken her place.

"Where's Gladys?" she asked, approaching the counter.

"George sent her to go fetch an autograph from Lovelace," said the new girl. "Have you got an order with you?"

Kitty nodded. "Yes. I need a regular, a decaf, and a water."

The girl said nothing, and in breakneck speed she shoved a tray at Kitty.

"There you go." She looked to the floor near the counter. "Oh, and George needed someone to take out that sack of trash. Since you're already going…"

She said nothing more, but her meaning was clear. Kitty sighed.

"Fine, I'll get it."

She bent down to grab the trash bag and then retrieved the tray from the counter. She'd just take the trash around back and head from there to deliver the orders. A bit of a roundabout way, but oh well. It was better than trying to come back through both doors with a tray in hand.

Just getting out the back door was difficult enough. She had to set the bag down and then hold the door open with her foot as she grabbed the bag once more. She hurried through as it slammed behind her and set the tray down on an air conditioning unit outside, sanitation be damned. The dumpsters were even further back in the alley, and when she finally reached them she found that they were jammed. She muttered a choice word and shook the lid for several seconds, which didn't seem to work. She then kicked the side out of frustration and spent another minute trying to get it open, finally succeeding. She tossed the bag in with a sigh of relief, closed the lid once more, and headed back to grab the tray.

When she grabbed the tray she looked up and noticed that Lovelace was standing outside of his limo chatting on the phone. This caused her to hesitate for a second – perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go around this way.

_Oh, shut up,_ she thought to herself, irritated. _What do you care what Lovelace thinks? You're sure as hell not trying to go back in through the door again – that's always annoying. Just go around and act normal. Stop acting so shellshocked. He's only human._

This in mind, Kitty cleared her head of any silly reverent thoughts and proceeded forward. Lovelace was only a couple of metres away now, and a woman was giggling next to him. Kitty's head was turned to watch their interaction, and as a result she was not quite paying attention when she began to turn around the corner, and perhaps if she had she could have avoided what would come next.

There was a dark blur and she felt someone step into her with startling force. Try as she might, she lost control of the tray; the cups went flying into the air, and as fate would have it, they went precisely where Kitty preferred they wouldn't.

Three seconds later, with the tray on the ground and pieces of glass all around, Kitty looked up to find a very angry and very wet Simon Lovelace, along with his slightly splattered companion.

"Good God, that's hot! Damn it!" He scowled and turned his attention towards Kitty. "You imbecile! What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? Tell me, do you?"

"I – I didn't mean to, I don't know what –"

"Quiet!" he ordered, and she obeyed immediately. He looked towards someone behind Kitty. "Stupid boy! Don't tell me you blindly ran into her like a fool! What were you doing back here, anyways?"

Kitty turned and found herself face to face with none other than the boy from the bookstore – Nat, was it? She felt herself growing just as angry as Lovelace. This idiot had caused her to spill scalding coffee all over an extremely and important businessman (which, admittedly, would not bother her under other circumstances), and more importantly, could end up costing Kitty her job!

"I was – I was just looking for an autograph, that's all," he stammered. He looked absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean for this –"

"I hope you're ready to pay for this," Lovelace snarled. "You have no idea how much this suit cost."

The woman placed a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it, Simon. We can get twenty of those suits for free. It's not worth it to have some newspaper report this saying you lost your temper or something."

For a few moments it appeared as if he would ignore her and continue yelling at the two of them, but he took a deep breath and backed off.

"You're right," he said finally. He turned back to the limo. "Let's just go. I don't need to waste my time here anymore."

He whistled and several escorts appeared.

"We're leaving," he said, and no one questioned him. "Tell everyone to head for the airport."

He opened the door and helped the woman into the limo before following her himself. Kitty stood and watched as an entire swarm of security followed suit, and quite soon the car started up and Lovelace and his posse began to head out.

Eventually Kitty was able to tear her attention from the brigade of cars and turn it back onto the boy. He seemed to feel her gaze and was already backing away from her with indiscreet fear.

"You idiot!" she seethed, advancing toward him. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

"Now, just hold on!" he squeaked as he held up a hand. "Let's not forget you were the one going around a dark corner with an unstable tray of drinks!"

"You're blaming _me _for all of this?"

"A bit, yeah. I mean, it's only fair you take _some_ responsibility."

"YOU WERE THE ONE THAT WALKED INTO ME!"

"Just quiet down for a moment!"

"DON'T TELL ME TO –"

"Seriously, a crowd's forming around us!" She glanced over her shoulder and saw that this was partially true; while most people were talking amongst themselves still, one or two were glancing at the two of them suspiciously.

She forced herself to calm down, which was easier said than done. "Fine. Fine. Just – what did you think would happen when you walked around a dark corner?"

"Right back at you."

"I – never mind. Whatever." She rubbed her palm against her forehead, too tired to argue further. "This is a disaster. George will throw a fit."

"George is your boss, I presume."

"Yeah." She silently fumed for several seconds. The boy seemed to be thinking, which for some reason was even more infuriating.

"He doesn't have to know," he finally said.

She gave him a doubtful look. "How so?"

"I mean, Lovelace was leaving anyways," he replied. "And I doubt anyone saw us, I think we were behind a pretty heavy line of security."

"You're sure?"

"Fairly."

"Well, that's comforting." Kitty massaged one of her temples with her fingertip. "I suppose I'll just tell him that I ran into someone. I don't have to tell him I spilled all over Lovelace unless he asks."

"Exactly." He squirmed as he noticed the mess on the ground. "If it was all Styrofoam I'd say not to tell him at all, but it looks like there's a glass in there, too."

"Yeah, that's the water."

"Oh," he said. He made a face and kicked around one of the shards of glass with his shoe. "I'm sorry. I'll pay for it."

"No need, I really doubt George would take it out of my paycheck," she replied.

"Good," he said. "I can at least tell him it was my fault."

"You don't need to. I think he'll believe me when I tell him."

"Ah. That's good."

Kitty bent down to pick up the pieces of glass and Styrofoam. He watched her as she placed them back on the tray and stood up.

"I'm still sorry," he stated.

"I know, I know. Don't worry about it. I imagine there were plenty of incidents like this today." She placed her hand on her hip and hoisted the tray up higher, so that it was almost on her shoulder. "You're name's Nat, isn't it?"

"Er, yeah. It's Nathaniel." He grimaced. "You talked to Bartimaeus, didn't you?"

"Your boss? Yeah, I did."

"Wonderful. I'm sure that was an enlightening conversation."

She almost laughed, but not quite. "Yeah, you could call it that."

He placed his hands in his pockets and spoke to the ground. "So. I guess that's all."

"Yeah," she agreed.

"Again, I'm sorry." He actually said this with some confidence – he didn't appear half as nervous as he had earlier. In an odd way this whole incident had loosened him up. "If you have any troubles with your boss, I'll come and tell him it was my fault. You know where to find me."

"Yeah. I'll ask for Nathaniel, I suppose?"

"Yes," he answered. He winced, but jokingly. "But please don't ask Bartimaeus. I'd really rather not have this hanging over my head for the foreseeable future."

"You know, that actually seems somewhat amusing. I'll make sure to seek him out."

"Thanks." Despite his tone he gave her a half-smile. "Are you sure you don't want me to talk with your boss?"

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. Actually, you should probably get out of here. George may see us if we dally around too long, and he'll be asking me why I was over here in the first place, which will _not_ be a pleasant conversation. And your boss, Bartimaeus, may see us, as well."

"I see." She could tell this last comment made him uneasy – if he had needed any extra motivation to high-tail it out of there, that was it. "I'll get out of your hair then. Come by the store if there are any problems."

"I will. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." He made to move away, but he lingered for a moment longer and turned around, a curious expression on his face. "Before I go, did you happen to hear anything Lovelace was saying before – er, I mean – well, did you?"

She gave him a blank look. "No. Why?"

"Nothing," he breathed. "Just checking. That's all. Goodbye again."

"Goodbye."

He looked at her for one more moment before he turned on his heel and left. She tightened her grip on the tray and turned around the corner (more carefully this time). The crowd had started to dissipate, but not much, to her relief. Quietly and quickly she moved past the crowd and slipped into the door to the interior of the coffeehouse.

George was inside when she entered.

"Kitty! Where have you been?" He eyed the broken glass. "And what happened?"

"Some idiot ran into me when I was trying to get these out," she said, her delivery smooth and relaxed. "I'll need to get another round so I can get those people their drinks."

"Ah. Bad luck."

"I'll take the orders over here if you want," the girl behind the counter offered.

Kitty handed her the tray gratefully. "Thanks."

"A regular, a decaf, and a water, right?" she asked as she grabbed two Styrofoam cups from under the counter.

"Yeah." Suddenly something occurred to Kitty, and she had to stop herself from swearing out loud. "Say, George, has Gladys come back yet? Wasn't she supposed to get an autograph from Lovelace?"

"Actually, that's a good question," he replied, scratching his chin. "Apparently he just up and left a few minutes ago, but she hasn't returned yet."

As always seems to be the case in such situations, no sooner had he said it than Gladys came in through the door.

"Nothing," she said, offering up her empty hands as proof. "It took me a while to fight through the crowd, and when I finally did he was leaving. Then it took me just as long to fight my way back."

"Wonderful," George muttered. He shrugged, but he did a shoddy job of hiding his disappointment. "Hopefully we got some decent pictures, at least. I would've liked to have a photo with him and some of the staff, but oh well. You can't always get what you want, I suppose."

Kitty was silent during all of this and did her best not to look too guilty. She instead turned her attention to the order she still hadn't delivered, looking away from George with some determination.

"Here you go," said the girl. Kitty took the tray from her with a mumbled "thanks" and hurried out of the door. She nearly ran into someone else just outside and after this second occurrence slowed down – another accident was the last thing she needed.

The delivery of the order was relatively painless, although she did get a glare from the woman who'd ordered the cappuccino. Oh well. It wasn't her fault it took her so long to get the drinks out there, Kitty thought to herself. That lady could go over and raise hell at the bookstore if she was so angry.

In about twenty minutes the staff began to usher people out of the coffeehouse, and in around thirty minutes all customers were gone. They spent a short while cleaning up the place, and quite soon George had dismissed them all.

"Get out of here," he said in an even gruffer manner than usual. "I expect you all back for your normal shifts, and I don't want you too tired to work."

Everyone was too worn down to protest, Kitty herself included. She realized it probably wasn't wise to walk home alone in the middle of the night, but she just didn't have the energy to care. Luckily, she encountered no problems and made it back to her flat safely. She flopped down on the couch as soon as she got inside. She turned on the television and watched it absently for several minutes before dozing off to the sounds of headline news, not even having bothered to kick off her shoes.

-


	7. Seven

For those of you reading, sorry for the long wait. A workload and a lack of motivation are to blame. The next chapter will probably be up somewhere around January 7th, if you're wondering.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any associated characters. You don't sue me and I won't sue you. Capiche?

* * *

Seven

-

Nat came back after several minutes looking perturbed. It was an uneasy look, but not overly so – it was as if something had happened yet things had ended up much better off than they logically should have. Didn't I tell you I was an amazing read of people?

"What'd you ask him?" I inquired with my usual air of laziness.

"Nothing," he replied.

"You froze up? I'm not surprised."

"He'd left already."

"Pity." I stopped myself from making several degrading comments I could have easily made right here. Hey, as I told you, I was feeling lazy. "I suppose you'll want to leave, then. Although really you both can just go home from here, I've already locked up the store and all."

"Good," Jenkins piped up. I groaned. He'd been quiet for so long, but like all good things, his silence had to end too, I guess. "I don't know about you both, but I want to catch the last part of a program I missed for _this_."

He spat out the last word with a tone that indicated he was none too pleased with Lovelace's little speech. Or perhaps he was just feeling like emphasizing a word dramatically, I really don't know.

"Have fun," I drawled. "And you, Nat? Did you have more fun than Jenkins here?"

"Sure." He was glancing back at the inside of the coffeehouse in a not-so-subtle way, and I saw ample opportunity to strike. Like a wild animal, I am. I go straight for the jugular.

"Looking around for that girl, are we?" I taunted him. I can be pretty merciless. "Getting one last good look at her before you stare at her some more tomorrow?"

"Actually, no." To my immense disappointment, he only looked slightly irritated by my comment. Usually he got all flustered and nearly threw a fit. "Are you? You seem to enjoy talking about her."

"Ho hum. Somebody's feeling feisty." My disappointment began to dissipate. Every once in a while it was fun to mess with someone who actually fought back. "I didn't want to tell you this, mate – honestly, it's just a tragedy – but I think I saw her heading off with some big dude. Handsome fellow as well. I'd say you're outclassed, Nat. I'm so sorry to break it to you."

"I don't know how I shall go on," he replied, face bland. "And I think you might be mistaken."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How so?"

"She's right over there, if you didn't notice." He was right. There she was, picking up a table across the patio from us. "I'm so sorry to break it to you."

"Nice call," I said, humbled. "Did you know I was bluffing right away? Or did you just see her after I said it?"

"A bit of both," he replied with a shrug. "I was pretty sure you were lying out of your teeth, and then I saw her right there."

"Ah. Bummer." Something occurred to me, and I looked around for a moment. "Where'd Jenkins go?"

"Dunno," Nathaniel said.

"Maybe he left?" I offered hopefully.

"I hope so. Although if he catches the same bus as me then I just might kill myself."

"That would be great, if you ask me." I yawned. "I'm going. It's late, and I'm old, and those two aren't a good combination. Are you working tomorrow?"

"Yes. I have the day after off."

"Mmkay." I scratched my chin. "I think Eva will be working tomorrow. Not sure, though. Maybe Ffoukes."

"As long as it isn't Jenkins."

"Amen to that," I agreed. We appeared to be two of the last customers still there. "I'll be heading home, I guess. Goodnight. Don't stay out too late at any nightclubs."

"Don't worry, I won't. Goodnight."

I wasted no time in leaving. I'll admit, the kid had impressed me with his response to my usually-devastating taunts. He only looked a mite furious this time. He was clearly learning under my tutelage, and I felt a swell of ill-deserved pride at this. Perhaps one day he too would be annoying the hell out of younger (though probably more mature) employees and coworkers as well.

When I got back to my flat I did nothing exciting, as you probably could've guessed by now. It's not like I'm an action hero or anything. If you really want to know just what I did, it went in this order – microwaving dinner, watching the telly, showering, watching the telly, reading the paper, telly, and then bed. And then I got up in the middle of the night to get some ice cream and watch telly again. See? Wasn't that just a waste of your time? Just trust me on this from here on out.

When I woke up it was more of the same old, same old. But since I just proved how boring it would be to describe that, we won't this time. Anyways, I got to the store around ten, and the kid and Eva were waiting outside when I got there. I was about to make a snide comment accusing Nat of "cheating" on the coffeehouse girl with Eva, but then I remembered how he'd handled my comments the night before and decided I probably should come up with something more clever this time around. He'd proven he deserved at least a bit of thought on my part (which, for what it's worth, is equal to the maximum intellectual output of five average men combined – yep, I'm that good).

"Waiting on me, I see. That's nothing new." I got out my key, unlocked the front doors, and then swung them open and kicked down the stand on each. "It's a nice day. I don't think I even need to turn the air conditioner on."

"Thank God," Eva muttered as she followed Nat inside. "It's always so bloody cold in here."

"I know," I said as I walked in after them. "It's an unwritten rule, actually. Any library or bookstore must have an inside temperature of no more than twenty-one degrees Celsius. Saves me a bunch of money on my heating bill, but the cost to cool the damn thing during the summer is just a killer."

They didn't seem to take my little pearl of wisdom for its full value. I think they thought I was joking. I wasn't. There really is an unwritten rule like that. Go into a library in the next few days. You'll see what I mean.

We had a pretty decent crowd right out of the gate. Most of them were carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee – I guess Druid's was a popular place the morning after Lovelace's speech. I shuddered to think of the cleanup their staff had probably done after carrying so many people. Poor guys.

There was really nothing interesting to report for quite some time. A little business here, a few fun arguments between the kid and Eva there – the normal, really. I was just about to head out to lunch when something interesting _did_ occur, however.

I was heading over to Eva (who was working the desk) to tell her I was going out when the door opened and in walked a very familiar face. Just guess who it is. I'll give you a hint, even: not Faquarl. I mean, it's not like I've introduced many characters so far as it is, so really it shouldn't be so hard.

It was Simon Lovelace. No, I'm only kidding. If you guessed that it was the waitress from Druid's that walked in the door, you would be correct. Although to be perfectly fair Lovelace was a good guess. And you really – oh, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just call this paragraph foreshadowing (I'm skilled at this particular technique, as I may have already told you) and move on.

After I recovered from my initial shock at seeing her (which wasn't very long, mind you – half a second, tops), I greeted her with my usual charm and affability.

"What a pleasant surprise," I said (not even dishonestly). "What brings you into my humble bookshop?"

She didn't really seem to acknowledge my remarks. In fact, she looked rather bored. I tried my best not to be offended.

"Is Nathaniel here?" she asked, and I was slightly taken aback.

"Nathaniel, huh? I see you two met up again." This was interesting.

"Maybe. Not your business, really." Someone was feisty. You probably were able to tell that for yourself, though. "Is he here, though?"

"Yes, but he's currently indisposed. Meaning he's sorting out crap in the back." I shoved up my sleeves casually. "Why'd you want to see him? Want to know if he made the reservations for tonight? Where are you both going?"

She smiled a bit. "Very funny. Could you tell him that everything ended up all right, then? Just not to worry or whatever."

"Sure," I said. I gave her a suspicious look. "What exactly happened to you two last night?"

"Like I said, none of your business. Just tell him."

"Will do. Pleasure seeing you…"

After several seconds she got the hint. Well, it's not like it's too often that you get pretty and smart in the same package, anyways. "Kitty Jones."

"Pleasure seeing you, Kitty Jones. Perhaps we'll run into each other again sometime soon."

She smiled again. "With luck. Bye. Make sure you tell him. I don't want him coming over and bugging me about it."

"Don't worry, I'm a man of my word," I replied, not adding in the optional "most of the time" which probably would've been more accurate. "Farewell, Kitty Jones."

"The same."

She left, and I spent several seconds standing there, grinning like an idiot. Young love. So terrible to experience, yet so fun to watch. I loved these kids. Not really, but you get my meaning.

I waited around for several minutes to see if Nat would come out of the back room, but he didn't, and I really didn't feel like going and getting him, either. Taunts are always better when you don't appear desperate – that's a rookie mistake. Instead, I decided to go ahead and take my lunch break. There was a sandwich place a bit down the road that was decent but I really don't think you care about exactly which sandwich I ate and what I did while I ate it (a BLT and reading the paper, respectively), so I won't waste any more time describing that.

When I got back to the store, Nathaniel and Eva had switched places. I tried to restrain myself and not appear too giddy.

"Had a good day so far, Natty boy?" I asked, perhaps a bit too gleefully.

"Not really," he said, and he sounded a bit grumpy. "Some of the boxes in the back room were mislabeled, so I've been reorganizing and redistributing all the books back there."

"I hate it when that happens," I replied in a sympathetic voice, knowing full well that I was probably the one that had labeled the boxes incorrectly and not feeling guilty at all about it. "I've got something that might cheer you up, though."

"Oh really?" He was skeptical.

"Really," I said.

"And what would that be?"

I let myself grin a bit. "Your bird stopped by the store."

"My bird?"

"You know, your bird. Your girlfriend. Your acquaintance. Your casual friend. Your –"

"Okay, let's just stop before you get completely inappropriate." It was apparent that he already knew me far too well. He sighed. "You mean the girl from Druid's, don't you?"

"Yes," I said. "Kitty Jones."

"That's her name?"

"Yup. Odd that you don't know it, seeing as she _is_ your girl. But maybe the game has changed since my days as a young stag."

"I know that you're trying to annoy me, and I know that I should just ignore it, but I'll admit it, I'm slightly annoyed."

"Aw, shucks, Nat. Don't make me blush."

He looked back to the computer and did his best to look disinterested. "Did she just come in and buy some books? Or is there something actually important you want to tell me?"

"Unfortunately for me, she didn't buy anything," I answered, affecting a fake pout. "But she did say something rather interesting."

"Oh?"

"Yes," I said. I was silent for a while. It's always good to draw it out; that way it's more dramatic. I picked that up from Faquarl a long time ago. "She said to tell you everything ended up all right, and not to worry, whatever that means."

He did a good job of containing any emotions he might have had at this piece of news, and it was hard to get a read on him, even for me.

"I see." He stared at the computer, blank-faced. "That's good."

"Unfortunately, she did not elaborate on the situation, which was just torture for someone as nosy as me," I continued. "Perhaps you would like to inform me just what happened?"

"Not really. Not much happened. And besides, it's none of your business."

"That's what she said." I paused for a second, realizing I had just said a very popular joke without meaning to, and furthermore, without making it as inappropriate as it deserved to be. Perhaps I was losing my touch. "C'mon, Nat. Throw me a bone here."

"No. Trust me, it's not that interesting." This posed two problems. First of all, I didn't believe him. Second of all, this only made me more interested. Don't you hate it when that happens? "It doesn't really matter."

"That's it. You're getting demoted!"

"To what?" he snorted. "It's not like I get paid very much anyways."

"Touché."

He shook his head and clicked the pen in his hand absent-mindedly. "Face it, Bartimaeus. You're not getting anything out of me. I'm just not that stupid."

"We'll see about that," I said. "Trust me, I'll find out. You shouldn't have gotten me so interested in it. Now I'll be sleuthing around until I find out what happened."

"It's no bother to me," he said with a shrug. "Actually, this will probably be pretty amusing. Tell me when you go 'sleuthing around,' as you put it. I want to watch. Maybe I'll bring a video camera, too. We could make a series out of this, get the BBC to pick it up as a comedy, even."

"No need to go any further, I can already tell where you're going." He really was starting to improve on his wittiness. This was starting to get fun. "Lemme guess: you were going to say that we should pitch it as, 'A reality series that follows an idiot pseudo-detective who trollops around London, trying to find out something that is none of his business and really not that important.'"

"Yes, that's pretty much what I was going to say about that."

As I'd guessed. I was still the master. "Damn straight. Don't get too cocky over there. You may be improving, but I'm still older and wiser. Remember that."

"Oh, don't you worry. I definitely will."

By then I'd had enough of his sassiness. I left him to himself and patrolled around the store for the rest of the day. It was a relatively quiet day; we could've probably gotten by with only two people working, or maybe even one. Don't tell Faquarl that, though. I'll never hear the end of it.

I closed up at eight that night, which was a couple of hours earlier than I normally did. It was a slow day, and I was tired. Besides, Nat and Eva were just kids; they shouldn't have been working twelve hour days. They should have been crashing cars and experimenting with drugs and getting arrested. You know, all that rebellious crap teenagers do. Unfortunately, I knew Eva had plenty on her plate as it was with school and work and all, and Nat would be scandalized if you even suggested breaking the law to him. That kid was going to have quite a shock in store for him at university, I'll tell you that.

The next day – Saturday, was it? – I took off. I lazed about my flat for a bit, eventually dragging myself off to lunch at two, and then subsequently to the grocery store. There was also a brief trip to an electronics store, where I hoped to pick up an upgrade for my computer's photo-editing program, but the salesman was of no help, and I only became more confused. I hate technology. It only complicates things. It's dead useful, but it's also a pain in the arse. Dunno how that works, but trust me, it does.

That night I observed my rather storied tradition of not really doing anything and just ordering Chinese food as I attempted to find the crappiest movies I could on the telly. I observed another rite of mine by drooling myself to sleep as I (hardly) watched another crappy teen romance flick.

To make up for my laziness on Saturday, I got into the store extra early on Sunday, which means I actually got in there on time (I was often late on Sundays – as I've told you, we open up early for the church crowds, and I'm not a morning person). Anne was working again, along with Ffoukes. An interesting duo – each was on completely opposite ends of the spectrum as far as work ethic went. I don't think I need to specify who was on what side.

We had the usual Sunday morning crowd, and for a while it was rather dull around the store, as it usually is. I kept Ffoukes at the desk where I could keep an eye on him; if I allowed him to work in the back room or roam around the store (which is what I was doing), I knew he would abuse his freedom and not really do anything at all. I'm not implying that that's bad in any way. It's exactly what I would do in his situation. But it's just not good business acumen to let your employees doze off in the self-help section whenever they get the opportunity.

I took my lunch break at one. Instead of going out to eat, I just got a sandwich from a nearby restaurant and took it back to my flat, where I looked over some bills and watched a football match on TV. I was just getting into the match when I realized that I had taken too long of a break, so I hurried back to the shop, still chewing on the last pieces of crust from my sandwich.

Ffoukes had seemingly taken his break while I was away, and, fully knowing that he probably wouldn't be seen for two hours or so (don't ask me what the hell he was doing – I didn't know and didn't want to know), I took the desk.

First up was an old lady who seemed to have an affinity for murder mysteries. She took a while to find the correct notes with which to pay me. When she finally finished three days later (slight exaggeration), a young dude with long greasy hair came forward with several biographies of rock bands. I was about to remark that it was a tad too late to audition for Zeppelin, but I don't think he would've made the connection with the long hair and all. Judging from his book selection, he was probably some grunge fan, anyways.

For several minutes it was quiet. However, right after three o'clock, something of note did occur. For the second time in three days, the door opened, and an all-too-familiar face could be seen over the counter.

"Faquarl." If you listened very carefully, you could hear children scream and run away from the sound of his name. No joke. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here. I would have thought that the last visit to my store would have weakened you too much to return so soon. Aren't you allergic to well-run business operations?"

"I thought _you_ were, Bartimaeus, but your tongue seems as strong as ever." He was dressed to kill, and I don't mean in a good way. It had been a long time since I'd seen Faquarl in a suit. "Or perhaps you're just drugged up at the moment. I doubt it would be the first time."

"No, it wouldn't," I agreed. I nodded at him questioningly. "What's with the snazzy suit?"

Faquarl had always been one to dress nicely, or at least nicer than I did (which wasn't saying much – I'd been known to show up to the store in sweatpants or pajamas before), but the suit was a bit much. It looked like one of those ridiculous designer suits, too.

"Meeting with the executives downtown," he sneered. Smug bastard. "I'm one of the three managers invited."

"You don't look like it." I wasn't complimenting him, either. "Hold on, the executives… are they the ones who own your store? I know you aren't, but I can never remember who does. It's so confusing."

A bit of his smirk faded away. "I knew you wouldn't understand. If you were invited you'd probably go looking… well, like you do right now."

"Fair point," I admitted. "Nice suit. Did you have to take out a loan to get it? Are you going to be living off of canned tuna for the next month?"

"I was wondering when you would comment about that," he muttered.

"Oh, don't you worry, Faquarl," I continued in a concerned tone. "If you need help paying rent this month, just call me up. I have some extra cash lying around. I guess I won't be going to any strip clubs for a few weeks, though."

"Poor you," he said. He didn't sound very sympathetic. "I'm sure you can put them off for a while."

"I don't know. The girls might miss me."

"I seriously doubt that. And knowing how cheap you are, I really doubt they'll miss your tips, either."

"You really don't want to continue this conversation," I warned him in near-gleeful tones. This was going to be great if he did. "You might not like where this will go."

"Oh good Lord. You really are twisted."

It would have been wrong for me to deny it. "Yup."

"Have you always been this perverted?" he asked, somewhat curious and somewhat disgusted. "Or is this a new development?"

"No, I was born this way," I said. "You're just not very intuitive."

"Apparently not," he agreed.

I turned away from him and opened up the internet browser on the computer. "So. Why are you here? Besides checking up on my latest psychological developments, I mean."

"Oh." He put his hands in his very small and crisply pressed pockets. "I just wanted to know if you attended the Lovelace speech. I didn't see you there."

"I did," I said, "and I didn't see you there, either. I didn't think you'd gone."

This was a lie. I'd completely forgotten that Faquarl was planning on going. If I had, I would've joined Nat in hiding under the table. But I wasn't going to tell Faquarl that. It's not like he had any friends, anyway. That would've just been mean.

"I did," he said. "Did you go alone?"

"No. I went with two of my employees."

"How sweet, Bartimaeus," he remarked. "You pay people to be your friends."

"Of course I do!" I exclaimed in a mock bullish tone that matched his fake saccharine one. "You should try it sometime. Although I really don't know what kind of rates you'd have to offer. Coupled with the suit, you might have to sell off some of your things to pay off your debt. I'd invite you to move in with me, but I really don't like you that much."

"Thanks. You're a real chum."

"Always have been. That's why they call me Bartimaeus the Friendly."

"Is that the screenname you use when you're soliciting children online?" he asked over his shoulder as he examined a book from the bestseller table. "Because that's not the first name I'd think of for you. There are several others that are only a couple syllables long, though."

I winced. "Ouch. That's cold."

"You don't deny it, then?" he prompted. He was really pushing it. I must've irritated him somehow. No clue what set him off.

"Oh, come on," I scoffed. "My perversion has its limits, thank you very much. I _usually_ draw a line right about where the legislative system does."

"Somehow I doubt that. As I recall you've never been too fond of rules, or morals for that matter."

"I've also never been fond of spending twenty-five to life in prison, either," I retorted. This conversation was quickly becoming even more disturbing, and I wasn't even the one spearheading the shift. How odd. "I don't know about you, though. You seem the type."

"Oh yes," he said sarcastically. "That's me. I just can't help myself."

I said nothing in response, and turned back to the internet browser. The page I'd clicked on was still loading.

"Well," I breathed as I stared at the screen with my patented determination, "this has been one of our more interesting conversations, if I do say so myself."

"Yes, it has." He checked his expensive-looking name brand knockoff watch, taking care not to ruffle his sleeves too much. "I should probably be going. The executives will be waiting on me."

"Very well," I said. "Go get 'em, tiger. Knock their socks off. Maybe they'll give you a pay raise if you really suck up to them. Make sure to get their coffee orders right."

"Go to hell."

"Reminds me of the last time we talked," I commented. "Although I have no intention of insulting my store as you did. But call me after the meeting and tell me how it is. Hell, I mean. I imagine it's quite like filling up a bottomless cup of coffee for corrupt business executives."

"That's it. I'm leaving." He straightened his tie, his flustered motions giving away his irritability. "Goodbye, Bartimaeus."

"Goodbye. Do stop by again, it's been fun."

"Don't expect it any time soon."

"Oh bother. You really know how to kill my spirits."

"Good," he said. "Now. _Goodbye._"

"Bye!" I called after him as he exited the store. Faquarl's visits were always so much fun. My mood was much improved from fifteen minutes beforehand.

Unfortunately, the rest of the day was not nearly as thrilling. There was a mite of an argument between Anne and Ffoukes (she thought he was lazy – no idea where she came up with that one), but that was during a period with no business, so really it wasn't _that_ thrilling. Shouting matches are always more fun when you have to both play peacekeeper between your employees _and_ divert the attention of the forming crowd away to something more pleasant. I've had plenty experience in that area, and by now I quite looked forward to arguments just to see how quickly I can break them up and how many people I can stop from gathering around. My personal best is one minute and eleven (respectively), in case you were wondering. Try beating that.

I lazily broke up this argument as a customer came in, and Anne and Ffoukes returned to their work (well, Anne did, anyways). It was a fair day for business overall; I was pretty busy until nine o'clock or so. The last of the customers had trickled out by ten, and I closed shop then with some help from Anne.

I stopped by a pub on the way home. It had been a while since I'd sat down and watched a game at a nice bar. This bar wasn't exactly nice, per se, but the beer was good. I only had a bottle, though. Honest. Then I just had a glass of water. I may be a good many things, but a drunk isn't one of them. I probably would be, but I just despise hangovers and do anything I can to avoid them.

I had some good conversations with the bartender and some of the other patrons, who were all in varied states of sobriety.

"Say, Ern, what was the name of that bird you hooked up with?" asked one man, only slurring his words slightly. "Eleanor? Elfie?"

"Susannah," said Ern. "Nice lady."

"Yeah." The first man looked at his empty beer bottle sadly. "Damn, I'm out. Oh well. Hey Ern – d'you think you could hook me up with Susan there? I reckon she'd like me."

"But I was going to call her back," Ern protested.

"So?" the first man said, voice rising in pitch. "Does that mean I can't call her up too? It's not like she has to be monagolous… monacromous… mo–"

"Monogamous?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that."

"I dunno," Ern replied. He seemed to be thinking over it quite a bit, and when you're drunk thinking is never fun. "I guess she wouldn't mind. Hell, I don't know. Buy me a beer and I'll think about it."

"Ah, that's the spirit!" cried the first one. He waved his hands in the air like a decapitated chicken and began craning his neck to look down the bar (which, ironically, is something a decapitated chicken can't do). "Bartender! Oy, bartender!"

"I'm right here," said the bartender, who was standing directly in front of them.

The man stared at him for a second, astonished. "Wow. That was fast. You're good. Were you hiding under there?"

I decided that this was my cue to leave. There are certain levels of stupidity or drunkenness that just aren't funny. Granted, they're exceptionally hard to obtain, but these fellows looked like they just might get there, and I didn't want to stick around to witness it, especially seeing as how Ern kept flicking his lighter lazily in his hand. Next thing you knew he'd end up lighting the whole pub on fire, and I really didn't feel like saving a bunch of drunks from a fire that was fed by burning alcohol. Some of them looked heavy, and the thought of all that liquor going to waste was just depressing.

When I exited the pub it was just past eleven. My chest ached something awful for several minutes as I walked home – probably heartburn. I made a mental note to stop by the convenience store on the way to work the next morning and get some medicine for that.

I didn't stay up too late when I got back to my flat. I diddled around for several minutes, watching some reality crap on one of those supposed "music" channels, but when I got up to get a drink of milk I noticed my copy of the new NME lying on the counter. I must've brought it in that morning and forgotten about it. While I was no fan of the aforementioned "music" channels, I did like the new young bands, and so did have a subscription to several music magazines. NME wasn't my favorite, but it had broken a few good bands (and subsequently completely over-hyped them), and it was always worth a read.

I took the magazine in my bedroom and settled myself into bed with it, turning the telly on in the background. I have to have music or the TV on while I'm reading: I can't stand just silence. I read about half of it before I began to get tired, and so then turned off the lights and lay down as I watched some sports special on the BBC. After several minutes I had given up on trying to stay awake and surrendered myself to sleep, the TV still blaring in the background.

-


	8. Eight

Sorry for the delay. I was out of town, then I was busy, then this chapter was giving me trouble when I was editing it. Originally it was part of a much larger chapter (nearly three times as long), but I split it up into two. So the next chapter will be either 7,000 words or split up again, but either way you're getting at least two consecutive chapters of Nathaniel unless I decide to split up the next Kitty chapter and throw part of it in there. We'll see.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bartimaeus or any characters. I'm just playing with them.

* * *

Eight

-

It was getting late when Nathaniel and Bartimaeus parted ways at Druid's. Nathaniel quickly made his way back to his stop and found that several other people he thought he'd seen at the event were waiting there as well. Quite soon the bus arrived, and the group got on. Nathaniel sat behind two talkative men considerably older than him, yet twice as energetic.

"Fairly impressive," commented the man with gray hair to his acquaintance. "Looked like he knew what he was talking about."

"Yes, but it's not like he answered any difficult questions, either," replied the bespectacled man. He looked oddly like Mr. Underwood, perhaps a bit taller and thinner. "I'd like to see how he handles the European press and the American press, and I don't mean those feel-good morning shows, either."

"Yes, I know what you mean. He seems clever enough, I assume he can handle just as well as Devereaux does. He'd probably handle it better, if you ask me."

"Yes, but how will he handle scandal?" asked the other as he polished his glasses with his sleeve. Nathaniel scratched his nose and tried to appear a little less conspicuous. Once he'd been caught eavesdropping on his teachers when he was ten and this situation felt exactly the same. "It always happens, even if it's fabricated by some ambitious tabloid journalist. Remember how Devereaux had to face those claims that he'd pretty much been unfairly given power? What will happen when Lovelace has something like that?"

"That is the question, I suppose." The gray-haired man looked out the window thoughtfully. "What do you think it will be? I've got my money on tax evasion."

The other man put back on his glasses and shrugged. "I don't know. It's too hard to tell. Disgruntled former business partners, affair with a loose-mouthed bimbo, association with a shady organization… it could be anything. I bet there'll be multiple, there always are at least a few, most of which are complete lies. If I had to wager on anything, I'd say a report of drug usage or something of the sort during his university years. That's so easy to uncover, it's practically unfair."

"Yes, but Lovelace wasn't like us. He might not have used drugs at all." The gray-haired man smirked. "He wasn't a teenager in the sixties."

"True."

Unfortunately, it was at this point that Nathaniel had to get off the bus, although he would've much liked to listen more to their conversation. What they had said was true, and it made him think about what he had heard Lovelace say on the phone: a woman had crossed him, and he was close to threatening her now. It had sounded possibly like an affair, but as far as Nathaniel knew Lovelace was not married. Whatever it was, it was potentially huge – Lovelace's popularity was at its peak, and a scandal such as this could be devastating to his political aspirations. Fortunately for Lovelace, though, Nathaniel had no clue what he should do about it, and even exactly what the situation was. Lovelace was involved in something, though, even if Nathaniel couldn't do anything about it. And really he felt like an idiot just thinking about it. Lovelace's affairs were his own business. Nathaniel knew he shouldn't pay any mind to them.

He was now at the house and entered as quietly as he could. However, the Underwoods were still awake. Mrs. Underwood was sipping tea and watching something on the television while Mr. Underwood was relaxed in his chair and reading the newspaper.

"Oh, hello dear," Mrs. Underwood greeted him as she set down her cup onto the table. "How'd you like it?"

Several answers occurred to him when he heard this, none of which he thought he could explain properly. He shrugged and sat down across from her instead. "It was interesting."

"What was interesting?" Mr. Underwood asked, lowering the paper so he could look at Nathaniel with his usual air of suspicion. Mr. Underwood was convinced that everything and everyone was out to get him, and thus found everything and everyone to be conniving and untrustworthy.

"Nathaniel went to an event at Druid's where Simon Lovelace spoke," Mrs. Underwood said.

"Oh really?" Mr. Underwood asked with more energy. He leaned towards Nathaniel. "What was he like, Lovelace? I've heard loads about him at work. He's all the rage in modern politics."

Nathaniel considered his words carefully before answering. "He was a good speaker. He was very intelligent, too. He knew how to control the crowd."

"Yes, that's precisely what I've heard about him," Mr. Underwood said, nodding. He leaned back into his chair once more. "Supposedly he riles up the crowd wherever he goes. I've heard Devereaux's worried about him, even more than he is about Whitwell. Whitwell at least doesn't challenge Devereaux; she's just exceptionally intelligent and very good at what she does. Lovelace has come out and spoken out against Devereaux and is intelligent and competent to boot."

"Whitwell?" Nathaniel asked, feeling very stupid for asking.

"She's the Secretary of Defence," Mr. Underwood said. "She's been mentioned to possibly be appointed Lord Chancellor or Leader of the House of Commons, but not if Devereaux can help it. The party's trying to pressure him into it, and they'll probably be successful. She's incredibly respected by all of the Cabinet, and she's actually in the same party, which is probably the only reason that she hasn't separated herself from Devereaux yet. But make no mistake, she's incredibly dangerous. If Lovelace wants to run then he'd better be prepared for all-out war."

"I see." While Whitwell had sounded familiar to him before, this was new information. "Sir, has Whitwell ever been involved in a scandal?"

Mr. Underwood thought for a few moments and shook his head. "The Ministry of Defence has been, but she hasn't been implicated in anything. Why do you ask?"

"I was just listening to two men talk when I was on the bus," Nathaniel explained casually. "They were saying that they were impressed with Lovelace, but they wanted to see how he would handle controversy."

"Ah." Mr. Underwood took a sip from his cup of tea. "That _is_ a valid question, I suppose. Whitwell's always done a good job of cleaning up after her ministry. I don't know if Lovelace has ever had anything of that sort linked to his business or his name, but if something does come up Devereaux will just rip him to shreds. He may not be entirely popular, but he is an adept politician, and he'll try to eliminate Lovelace so he can focus on Whitwell and whoever else may run against him. It's a dangerous game, politics. Are you hoping to become a politician?"

Nathaniel was not sure what to say. He'd never really seriously considered it – his plans beyond university were all a blur. He was planning on studying economics and politics if he could when he did go to university, but that had not been with the intent of becoming a politician. He just found the subjects interesting.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"You should," Mr. Underwood grunted. He picked up his paper and began reading once more. "You're a smart boy. If you are willing to work hard enough, you could be a good one. You could be as powerful and popular as Lovelace or Whitwell if you dedicate yourself to it. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration – don't get your head too inflated – but you could be fairly successful, like I am."

Nathaniel was silent for several moments. Really, Devereaux wasn't that great of a leader – popular opinion was already divided on him, and when Mr. Underwood spoke of him he never seemed very fond of him. But Nathaniel was a hard worker, and smart as well. Mr. Underwood was right: he _could_ be Lovelace or Whitwell, or any of those other popular politicians.

"I know some people," Mr. Underwood remarked over his paper. "If you do well your first year at university, I could get you a job in my department. It won't be much – maybe an internship – but it'll be a start."

"I'll think about it," Nathaniel replied. "It sounds like an interesting career path."

"It is. There's nothing better than serving your country. If I can teach you one thing, boy, I hope it's that."

Nathaniel stayed downstairs for several more minutes. Mrs. Underwood insisted on feeding him, although he was not particularly hungry, and he finally convinced her to only make a small sandwich and not the full meal she had wanted to make. After finishing his sandwich, he retired to his room, where he read for several minutes before going to bed, still feeling somewhat uneasy about the Lovelace incident.

It had not turned out nearly as bad as it could have, he reasoned to himself as he lay in bed, the lights all off. Sure, he probably wouldn't want to show his face around Lovelace ever again, or at least for a while. But he had not made a complete fool out of himself in front of the waitress, whom he probably would see again (no doubt with some intervention on Bartimaeus's part). Actually, the incident with Bartimaeus at Druid's had completely slipped his mind, as it paled in comparison to the Lovelace embarrassment. At first he thought the waitress likely to kill him, but she had calmed down quite a bit. All in all, he'd done a fairly good job of recovering. Mr. Underwood was right – he _would_ be a good politician.

The next day Nathaniel arrived at the store before Bartimaeus, as was the norm. He and Eva were waiting outside for a while before their boss finally showed up. Thankfully, when they entered the store wasn't as near as cold as it usually was. Eva took the desk, while Bartimaeus took patrol duty. That left Nathaniel in the back room, which was not exactly something he was excited about. Not that he didn't try to avoid it – he actually got into a heated discussion with Eva about it, but to no avail.

The back room was always poorly lit, and working back there was always equally frustrating. Mainly the work was just unloading new releases and organizing the boxes of books that were kept back there. Unfortunately, many of the boxes appeared to be mislabeled, so he would be spending most of the day reorganizing the contents of these boxes. This only worsened his mood. He knew it was probably Bartimaeus that had mislabeled everything, as well, and he thought longingly of strangling his employer as he meticulously redistributed each book into its appropriate box.

Around lunchtime Nathaniel ventured out into the main part of the store and to Eva's desk.

"Where's Bartimaeus?" he asked.

She didn't even bother to look up. "Out for lunch."

"I see." He tried to look as nonchalant as he could, but he knew he only looked more suspicious. "Say, don't you think we should switch? You're probably getting tired of sitting, and I'm getting tired of standing. Besides, the back room's not that bad today."

She was doubtful. He didn't blame her. "Really?"

"Yeah," he lied. Forget morals. He needed to get the hell out of that room. Frankly, he was afraid that he'd go insane if he stayed in there too much longer. "Just labeling some boxes and whatnot. C'mon. It's only fair."

"Fine," she said, getting out of her chair. "But you have it again in the morning next time we're working together. I'm not even properly awake yet."

He took his seat behind the counter maybe a tad too eagerly, but Eva was already on her way to the back and did not notice. There were only a couple of customers for the next thirty minutes, all of which he was more than capable of helping by himself. He wondered silently how Eva was liking work in the back room. He had a sneaking suspicion that she would not be too happy with him afterwards.

When Bartimaeus entered the store his mood immediately soured, and he did not think it would improve much as long as Bartimaeus was around. _He_ should go into the back room and try sorting out that mess. It was probably his fault to begin with.

Even his greeting was annoying. "Had a good day so far, Natty boy?"

"Not really. Some of the boxes in the back room were mislabeled, so I've been reorganizing and redistributing all the books back there."

Nathaniel knew he probably sounded irritated, and that he probably should control his emotions better, but in all fairness he _was_ irritated, and he didn't care if Bartimaeus knew it. In fact, he preferred it.

"I hate it when that happens," Bartiameus said in a tone of guiltless fake sympathy. Nathaniel would not have been surprised if Bartimaeus knew that he had been the one to mislabel those boxes, and was amused by Nathaniel's misery. "I've got something that might cheer you up, though."

Nathaniel was doubtful, as Eva had been only minutes earlier in his same position. "Oh really?"

"Really."

"And what would that be?" he asked carefully, trying to get a read on Bartimaeus. That itself was nearly impossible, but he tried nonetheless.

"Your bird stopped by the store," Bartimaeus replied, with his typical stupid grin.

Was this a joke? Nathaniel couldn't tell if he was lying or not. "My bird?"

"You know, your bird. Your girlfriend. Your acquaintance. Your casual friend. Your –"

Nathaniel got his point relatively quickly. "Okay, let's just stop before you get completely inappropriate. You mean the girl from Druid's, don't you?"

"Yes. Kitty Jones."

This was interesting. "That's her name?"

"Yup," Bartimaeus affirmed, nodding his head. He smirked at him, and Nathaniel mentally weighed the option of punching his boss in the nose. He decided that it wasn't worth it, but just barely. "Odd that you don't know it, seeing as she _is_ your girl. But maybe the game has changed since my days as a young stag."

"I know that you're trying to annoy me," Nathaniel admitted, "and I know that I should just ignore it, but I'll admit it, I'm slightly annoyed."

It was the truth. Bartimaeus was just an annoying person.

"Aw, shucks, Nat. Don't make me blush."

"Did she just come in and buy some stuff?" Nathaniel asked as he looked back to the computer with an affected air of indifference. "Or is there something actually important you want to tell me?"

"Unfortunately for me, she didn't buy anything." Bartimaeus pretended to pout at this point. "But she did say something rather interesting."

"Oh?" Nathaniel asked, intrigued.

"Yes." Bartimaeus took a long, drawn-out pause, presumably to increase the drama of the situation. "She said to tell you everything ended up all right, and not to worry, whatever that means."

Well now, this _was_ quite interesting. It was almost enough to make him forget his irritation over the boxes. He did his best to control himself, though, and not give away anything to his employer. Bartimaeus didn't need any more ammunition against him. Instead, he just stared at the computer determinedly.

"I see," he said. "That's good."

Bartimaeus continued with considerably more vigor, and Nathaniel knew this had been his true purpose for bringing it up. "Unfortunately, she did not elaborate on the situation, which was just torture for someone as nosy as me. Perhaps you would like to inform me just what happened?"

"Not really," he said, keeping his expression calm and cool. "Not much happened. And besides, it's none of your business."

There was much more to the conversation (as usual, Bartimaeus made a fool of himself), but Nathaniel was hardly even listening at that point. So, the waitress – Kitty Jones – had shown up at the store. She'd actually sought him out, it seemed. That was an encouraging sign. Not that he was trying to gage her interest in him or anything. He just didn't want to have to feel ridiculous every time he went over to Druid's. Thankfully, everything was all right, if Bartimaeus was to be trusted. That was good. He considered going over to Druid's just to check if Bartimaeus was being honest, but he realized that doing that would be a bit much. For now, at least, he should take Bartiameus's word. He would wait and see if Kitty Jones visited again. If not, then he would assume that everything was fine.

The rest of the day was rather boring. Bartimaeus decided to close up early, and when Nathaniel arrived home neither of the Underwoods were there. He fixed himself dinner and read a biography of William Gladstone he'd gotten from the store earlier that ay. He finished a good chunk of it, and afterwards went to bed.

He had the entire weekend off, and woke on Saturday near eleven o'clock, later than he had all year. He was about to groggily make his way downstairs when Mrs. Underwood called him from the laundry room, which was next to his bedroom.

"Nathaniel, we'll be getting back some information on your university applications soon," she said as she folded up one of Mr. Underwood's plaid shirts. "She should call in the next few days. Oh, and I need to go out with me to today. We've bought a new television for the sitting room and I'll need your help to load it."

"Okay," he said. "Where's Mr. Underwood? Is he at the office again?"

"Yes," she sighed. "There's been an incident at the Pinn plant on the other side of town, and he's been up since five working on it. I swear, if he doesn't slow down he's just going to work himself to death."

They left thirty minutes later in Mrs. Underwood's old van. She was a cautious driver, never accelerating too much and always darting her head back and forth to look for oncoming traffic.

"You really don't need to drive in London, but it's nice to be able to do it," she remarked as they pulled up to a busy intersection. "We should see if we could get that in before you go to university. I'll talk to Arthur about it."

He offered no opinion on the subject, for he had none. He did not know what Mr. Underwood would say about it, but the thought of him driving around in a car with Mr. Underwood barking terse instructions at him was an odd one.

When they got to the store, they were forced to wait for several minutes as the salesman was preoccupied with someone else. When he finally got to them, he looked rather harried.

"Underwood?" he asked.

"Yes," Mrs. Underwood said.

"Right this way. We've already gotten your payment, I presume, so all you need to do is pick it up. The instructions are on the inside, call if you have any questions." He led them to a large box with several pictures of a television on it. "That's it. You're good to go."

He didn't wait with them any longer and instead headed off to take care of another customer instantaneously. Mrs. Underwood shook her head.

"Kids these days," she muttered. She motioned for Nathaniel to move to the other side. "Grab that end, I'll get this one. Don't fuss so much, I can handle it fine."

She did, and all in all it was a painless task. Quite soon they were on their way back to the house, the television comfortably situated in the backseat.

"So," Mrs. Underwood said as they pulled up to a stop light, "how do you like your job so far?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "It's all right. It's not hard work and the pay's decent."

"That's good, I guess." The light turned and they began to lurch forwards. "Do you want to continue working there after you go to university?"

"I wouldn't mind it, I guess," he replied. "But if Mr. Underwood could get me an internship in his department, I'd do that instead. But that wouldn't be until after my first year anyways."

"That internship would do you good," Mrs. Underwood agreed. "Arthur could personally look over you and teach you what he knows. He has high expectations for you, you know. To get that internship you'll have to have very good grades."

"I know."

"Good. It's always better when you know exactly what's in front of you." She smiled. "Besides, a little hard work never killed anyone. Don't tell Arthur I said that, though, as he'll take it as invitation to work even more than he already does."

When they reached home they took several minutes to unload it and haul it into the sitting room. Nathaniel was about to try to hook it up, but Mrs. Underwood stopped him.

"No, let's wait for Arthur," she said, tugging at his shoulder. "You can do it together. I'm not sure what he wants to do with it, so let's not bother with it yet."

He followed her into the kitchen, where she beckoned for him to sit down.

"Here, I'll make something. I don't know about you, but I'm starved." She turned on the stove while picking up the phone and pressing it to her ear. She listened for a minute or so as she got out separate meats and seasonings. She set the phone down and let out a deep breath. "Ach. We're supposed to get the house checked out soon. Apparently, one of Arthur's friends works in the construction business and thinks we might be too vulnerable to a fire. Oh dear."

Nathaniel spent the rest of the day lazing about the house. He finished his Gladstone book and started on another (a biography of Benjamin Disraeli), and he helped Mrs. Underwood do some work out in the back garden. By the time he went to bed, Mr. Underwood still had not shown up, although he had apparently called and told Mrs. Underwood he would be home late and not to wait up for him. She was not thrilled by this, but did her best to hide it.

"That's the bad side of politics, as you see," she said as she sat down in the kitchen, her face etched with weariness. "You're always on call, I'm afraid. It's a small price to pay, however, to serve your country. Now get on up to bed, you – I don't want you too tired tomorrow. We'll have things to do _before_ eleven o'clock, most likely."

He obliged. When he fell to sleep, he dreamt that he was in the middle of a large square. There was music all around him, the most bizarre music he'd ever heard. Mr. Underwood was playing a pink accordion and shooting Nathaniel a glare as if to say, _Well?_ Nathaniel nodded sheepishly and had just reached for the tuba when someone else grabbed it first.

It was a woman. "It's mine," she said, throwing the tuba down behind her.

"But I must play it!" Nathaniel argued.

The woman thought for a moment. "Fine. Then let's fight for it."

To Nathaniel this seemed like the most logical solution in the world, so he agreed. The woman entered a fighting stance and moved around him for a while before tossing a few light punches. He was hesitant to punch back – he was quite certain that if he punched her his hand would fall off. It was only natural.

"Fight already!" Mr. Underwood cried. And so he did.

Every time he hit her several different birds flew out of the spot where his fist made contact. An eagle, an albatross, a hummingbird, and several other birds he did not recognize – red and gold birds, blue and yellow birds, clear birds that seemed to be made of glass.

The woman threw her hands up in defeat. "You win."

He was just about to take the tuba from her when a man with scuba goggles took it first.

"But it's mine!" he exclaimed. "I won it!"

"Only after she took it," said the man, and Nathaniel had to admit that he had a valid point. She _had_ taken it, after all.

Mr. Underwood was still playing his accordion and to his side he saw Mrs. Underwood playing a large organ of fire. Ownership issues aside, he knew he must take the tuba. Without the tuba they couldn't play the song they'd been practicing for so many weeks.

"Just give it," he said finally.

To his surprise the man grinned. "Very well," said the man. "Take it."

Nathaniel offered his hands and the man dropped the tuba into them, but it just fell straight through. Nathaniel found that his body had become intangible – his feet were just vapor – he was falling through the earth – ground swallowed him up – above him he heard Mrs. Underwood's organ play out one last mournful note.

He woke momentarily, for several minutes. The dream slipped away from his memory within seconds, and he quickly fell asleep once more.

-


	9. Nine

Disclaimer: Barty isn't mine. Longest chapter yet, so I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Nine

-

Nathaniel woke up with a strange feeling about him, as if something had happened yet he could not quite remember what it was. It was an odd feeling, but the sound of voices downstairs shook it from him. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, and, still quite tired, he made his way downstairs.

The sight before him was a surprising one. Mrs. Underwood was at the stove, as was her custom, and Mr. Underwood was at the table as he usually was. But someone else was sitting down next to him.

The person smiled. "Hello, Nathaniel."

He stared at her for several moments. Finally, he walked into the kitchen and took his seat opposite her.

"Hello, Ms. Lutyens," he said in response without blinking.

"How has your summer been?" she asked as she poured some sugar into her drink. "Good, I hope."

"Yes," he said. "It's been fine."

"Nathaniel's been working at Alexandria Books down by Druid's," Mrs. Underwood said from the stove. "How do you like your eggs, Rosanna?"

"Sunny side up," Ms. Lutyens replied. She looked back to Nathaniel. "Do you like it there?"

"It's a decent job."

She took a sip of her tea. "It's a good store. Not like those chain stores, either. Very cramped. I've bought several books there. Is the fellow with red hair still there?"

"Bartimaeus?" He nodded. "He's the owner. He's my boss."

"Yes, he's always interesting to talk to," she said. She chuckled once. "The last time I was in there he was chastising one of his employees for laziness, but the employee did not seem much perturbed."

"That was probably Ffoukes. He has a questionable work ethic, to say the least."

"Is that so?" she mused aloud. She beamed at him in a way that made his cheeks redden, not at all of his own volition. "And what of your work ethic? Pristine, I hope?"

"Yes," he answered almost instantaneously. "Better than Bartimaeus's, at least. It would be hypocritical of him to have a complaint with how hard I've worked."

She looked at her tea thoughtfully. "Mm. But it seems that those in a position of power do tend to be hypocrites more often than not."

"Now, now, Rosanna," Mr. Underwood said, miffed, "not all of them are like that. There are some decent men in high ranks."

"Undoubtedly so," she agreed. "But perhaps the ones that are hypocrites just get a tad more press coverage."

He folded over his paper and took a sip of his coffee. "Yes, well, that's not their fault, is it? I never said we had good P.R. people. In fact, they're tremendously incompetent. They're very good at nothing at all."

"Arthur!" Mrs. Underwood chided him from the stove. "Don't say such things about your coworkers! Most of them are very nice, Rosanna, don't listen to him."

"I never said they were unkind," he said, unaffected. "I just said they're complete nitwits. Very polite nitwits, but nitwits nonetheless."

"Arthur!"

"Fine," he muttered. He looked back to Ms. Lutyens with a very contrived smile. "What I really meant is that all of our P.R. people are quite fantastic. They're all very nice, and they're all very good at being nice. It's not their fault that they're never available for comment when journalists come knocking – which is essentially their job, really – and that those journalists then try to interview us, which only wastes our time and makes us prone to public embarrassment via the media. But honestly it's not their fault, I'm sure they were too busy being nice to talk to any silly old journalists."

"Oh, please excuse him for his grumpiness, Rosanna, he never has been a morning person." Mrs. Underwood fixed her husband with a fierce glare. "If you keep up with this I'm burning your toast. I thought you might like to know."

"I like burnt toast!" he declared defiantly.

"Arthur, no you don't," she responded. "And stop embarrassing us! I'm so sorry about all of this."

Ms. Lutyens answered with a brief laugh. "Oh, it's all right, Martha, it's nice to see a bit of passion about something. The administration at the school has been vexing me with its new policy for next year – basically they want us to censor out quite a bit in the history and language arts reading. It's infuriating, really, and takes the bite out of the subjects, if you ask me. Do you know what I'm talking about, Arthur?"

"I do," he said. "It's a nation-wide implementation. The bill just barely passed, one less vote and it would've been rejected. Somewhat controversial, too. They're trying to repeal it."

"We can only hope," she sighed. "Do you have any opinion on it?"

He shrugged. "Not really. He –" he jutted his finger at Nathaniel "– is out of school now so I haven't really paid much attention to any of the education legislation, unless it applies to any part of the university curriculum, that is. Besides that, education really isn't my forte."

"Ah. A pity." She dabbed at a drop of tea on the table with a napkin before looking up brightly at Nathaniel. "That reminds me. Have you heard back from any universities?"

He shook his head. "No. But Mrs. Underwood said we could hear back soon."

"That's what the counselor at the school told us, at least," Mrs. Underwood said as she scooped an egg out of the pan with a spatula and dropped it onto a plate. "Because we were late to apply there was some trouble, but she thinks we've sorted it out. We should be hearing back any day now."

"I see," Ms. Lutyens said. "And why exactly was there trouble applying? I'm sure you've told me before, but it's been some time since we last spoke."

"There was trouble getting his documentation because of everything," Mrs. Underwood said, and that was all she had to offer on the subject.

Ms. Lutyens nodded. "Oh. Yes, now I remember."

They were silent for a while. What precisely "everything" was, everyone knew, but no one was very willing to talk about it. Nathaniel had discussed it before with Ms. Lutyens and was quite comfortable with the subject around her, but she probably did not feel completely comfortable with the subject around him yet, and Mrs. Underwood could probably guess that. There was an extremely large elephant in the room, and no one had any protests about ignoring it.

Mrs. Underwood broke the tension by delivering a full plate of food in front of each person at the table. "There we go," she said in an affected cheerful voice. "Eat up while it's hot."

They all began doing so, and she grabbed her own plate and sat down next to Nathaniel. Everyone was quiet for a few moments more as they chewed their food, and once more it came to Mrs. Underwood to end the silence.

"So, Rosanna, are you looking forward to the new school year?" she asked as she buttered her toast.

"Oh yes," Ms. Lutyens replied, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "The new policy aside, it should be a good year. I've heard good things about the incoming class. Of course, they've got a lot to live up to."

Nathaniel blushed again, and Ms. Lutyens winked at him.

"And what of your family?" Mrs. Underwood continued. "Your brother's getting married, isn't he?"

The conversation went along in this vein for some time, and Nathaniel was relatively silent during this period. He knew little of Ms. Lutyens's personal details, and he was even less knowledgeable about the rest of the people the two gossiped about. Mr. Underwood seemed none too interested, either; he was quite content to read his paper and drink his coffee. So Nathaniel listened, and thought, and learned much he had no use for and daydreamed about random things, none of which involved sitting in a kitchen listening to gossiping women.

"Oh my, I'm sure we're boring Nathaniel here to death," Mrs. Underwood said finally, and Nathaniel agreed in his head with silent vigor. "There must be something else that we can talk of that perhaps will be a bit more engaging for him."

Ms. Lutyens looked up toward the clock hanging above the sink and let out a small gasp. "I'm so sorry, Martha, but I've really got to run. I'm supposed to help my brother and his fiancé with the flower arrangement at two, and it's already one-thirty."

"Pity," Mrs. Underwood said. She gestured her head to the sink. "Would you like to take some with you? We'll never finish it all. Nathaniel has a remarkably low appetite for a teenage boy. He only has three helpings of each meal."

"I do not!" Nathaniel protested, embarrassed.

"Oh relax, I'm only kidding." She rubbed his arm with genuine affection and grinned. "Rosanna knows that."

"I do," she said as she draped her coat over her shoulders. "I grew up with three brothers. They used to have competitions to see who could eat the most. We'd have to order three dinners for each of them when we went out to restaurants."

"But what of the leftovers?" Mrs. Underwood asked. "Will you have any?"

Ms. Lutyens smiled graciously and said, "No, I won't be able to drop them off at my flat before I go to my brother's house. They'll probably spoil in the car. I would just put them in his refrigerator, but it's full with flowers. So far this wedding has been madness, really."

"They always are."

"Indeed," agreed Mr. Underwood. "Ours was just chaos. All sorts of relatives in and out of the house constantly, calls from caterers and ministers and such. We should've just gotten married by the city if you ask me."

"Don't be such a curmudgeon, Arthur!" Mrs. Underwood stymied him with a stern glare, and he recoiled back behind his newspaper. "I'm sure it will be a wonderful wedding. But are you sure about the leftovers?"

"Yes, unfortunately. It was a wonderful meal, but the flowers seem to have thwarted our plans." She looked honestly disappointed, and Nathaniel thought that this satisfied Mrs. Underwood to some degree. "I should be going, I guess. Goodbye, Martha, Arthur. It was nice seeing you, Nathaniel. I expect that you'll be extremely busy studying this year, and if you slack off I expect that I will get a call immediately from Martha about it!"

It was a playful warning, but still semi-serious. Nathaniel smiled back. "Don't worry, I won't."

"Good," she said. "Goodbye, then. I'll drop by later on to tell you how everything went, Martha."

"Goodbye!"

She turned and left, and that was that. The rest of the day was filled with menial chores and reading, but not particularly in that order. Nathaniel spent some time hooking up the television with Mr. Underwood, which was an interesting experience in itself, filled with several mumbled curse words and numerous looks back to the instruction manual.

"That's it," he finally growled at one point. "I'm going to put it upon myself to see that some regulation be made for all of this. These instructions make no sense. It's practically criminal, really. This is ridiculous."

Nathaniel was not sure whether to take him seriously or not, as he had recently been involved with a bill to regulate the volume control on car radios. After the initial legislation, Mr. Underwood had not spoken much of it. Nathaniel did not think it had gathered much support amongst the House of Commons.

Some time later they finally managed to hook it up and get it working to Mr. Underwood's satisfaction. Several of the channels still came up kind of fuzzy, but neither of them had enough energy to bother with looking back through the manual for help on that (or, heaven forbid, look on the internet for it).

For a while Nathaniel sat in front of the television with Mr. Underwood as he read his Disraeli biography. Occasionally Mr. Underwood would mutter something about the picture quality or remote sensitivity, but for the most part it was a fairly stress-free experience, and neither felt the need to converse with each other.

Later on they both helped out Mrs. Underwood in cleaning out the garage, and afterwards they all headed out for dinner in Mr. Underwood's car. It was a small car, and old, yet fairly nice in spite of its age. Mr. Underwood liked to refer to it as a "classic," although Nathaniel had the suspicion that he said this because it sounded much better than calling it a used car in decent condition. It began raining as they drove to the restaurant, which soured Mr. Underwood's mood considerably.

"Bloody rain," he muttered as he leaned over the steering wheel and looked up and out of the window. "I swear it's rained more this year than any summer I can care to remember. It's insane."

"This doesn't look like it'll stay around too long, at least," Mrs. Underwood said in a bright voice that contrasted Mr. Underwood's completely, and when Nathaniel looked out the window he saw that she was right. It was already clearing up, and by the time they parked and got out of the car it was only sprinkling.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Mr. and Mrs. Underwood chatted about this and that – incompetent coworkers, the lady next door, the water bill – and only occasionally called upon Nathaniel to say something, which did not bother him at all. His thoughts wandered randomly; he thought of university, and of what Ms. Lutyens had told him. He thought of Bartimaeus and silently hoped that the redheaded man would not be working tomorrow. At one moment he thought of the waitress from Druid's, Kitty Jones, but this did not last long before he caught himself. Bartimaeus would have just been giddy if he had found out about this, and with this motivation Nathaniel pushed all thoughts of her from his mind.

Dinner was very good. Nathaniel ordered salmon, as did Mr. Underwood, and it was filling. The ride back was considerably less talkative than the actually dinner had been, as they all were stuffed and too tired to really think. When they arrived back home, Nathaniel went straight into his room and flopped down on his bed. He tried to read for several minutes, but eventually decided he was too tired for even that, and he promptly fell asleep.

He woke up early the next day, which was no surprise as he'd gone to bed very early. He diddled around for a little while, performing boring tasks such as changing (he hadn't changed out of his clothes before going to sleep), washing up, and preparing a small breakfast. He was just pulling the milk carton from the refrigerator when Mrs. Underwood walked in the kitchen with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.

"Has Arthur already left?" she asked as she set the bag down on the counter. "He said he'd probably not have left yet when I got back."

"I don't know," Nathaniel said as he poured himself a glass of milk. "I haven't seen him."

"I guess he has. Oh well." She opened the bag and extracted a large white box, which when opened revealed doughnuts and other such pastries. "I got these for you both, but if he's already gone he'll just to have them later. Don't bother making anything. We're out of bread and eggs, I'm afraid. I'll have to stop by the store today. If you don't want the doughnuts, there should be some leftovers from yesterday in the fridge."

As soon as she had said this she began walking out the door once more. He began pouring some chocolate syrup into his milk and leaned over to holler at her through the doorway.

"Where are you going off to?" he called. "Don't you want to eat?"

"No, no," she called back, "I'm good. I've had my coffee. I'm going to the store and then to the post office. It's my cousin's birthday next week, so I'm going to mail off her present. I don't think I'll be back before you have to leave for work. Don't be late!"

"Don't worry, I won't be."

The door closed behind her, and Nathaniel turned back to his milk, beginning to stir it with a spoon. His breakfast was very sweet, yet very good as well, and he stopped himself before he felt too stuffed. It wouldn't be good to come down with indigestion an hour into his shift.

He left some thirty minutes later for the bus stop. It was a quiet ride over to the store, and when he got off the bus he saw that he was the only one there. He waited for a while by himself, leaned against the wall dully. Fifteen minutes past ten Ffoukes showed up and looked at him curiously.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Waiting," Nathaniel replied. "Isn't it obvious?"

Ffoukes's eyes drifted to the door. "It's not open?"

"No." Nathaniel shifted his weight against the wall, and Ffoukes took a seat next to him. "Do you know if Bartimaeus is working today? Or is it Anne?"

"No clue. Both were working yesterday, but Bart had Saturday off. It was me and Anne and Jenkins that day." He began untying and then tightening his shoelaces unceremoniously. "Third straight day I've worked. If Bart doesn't come up with a normal shift chart soon I'll go mad."

"I know," Nathaniel agreed. "It's madness. I never know when I'm working or who I'm working with."

"I can't really blame him, though. I don't think I'd really want to make one up, either. But Anne would. Without her this store would go down the drain."

Nathaniel was interested by this. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Ffoukes replied. "She and Bart go way back. He used to be pretty overworked when the store opened or whatnot. He knew she worked at another store so he called her up and hired her. She's pretty much runs it with him, even if she doesn't own it. I know she gets paid much better than the rest of us."

"As she should."

"Yeah." He sighed and tilted his head back up against the wall. "This is great. I actually got here before him. There's no way Anne's working today, she would've been here an hour ago. It has to be Bart. He can't ever call me lazy again."

As soon as he'd said that Bartimaeus came ambling up to the store. Surprisingly, he looked rather energetic and even slightly cheerful. He didn't look bothered at all by his own tardiness.

"Hullo," he greeted them, tone amiable. "Wonderful day."

"I've noticed," Nathaniel replied, frowning. "I've been sitting outside for thirty minutes. Where've you been?"

"Overslept," he said simply. "Alarm clock didn't wake me up. What a shame."

"You seem happy," Ffoukes noted as Bartimaeus unlocked the front door. "I thought you'd be hung over. Were you out drinking last night?"

"Yes, but I didn't get drunk. I hate hangovers, you know." He opened the doors and they all entered the store. He stayed behind for a moment to prop open the doors. "I just overslept."

"Aren't you at all irritated about that?" Nathaniel questioned. "I mean, we probably lost about thirty minutes of business because of that."

Bartimaeus shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well. The first thirty minutes we never have any customers, anyways. Besides, I'm the owner. I can do whatever the hell I want. It's a nice feeling, that. I've got a… well, not a friend exactly. I've got an acquaintance who's the manager at a big corporate bookstore. He enjoys boasting about the largeness of his store, but I always bring up the freedom this store allows me. It gets him every time."

"So the moral of the story is to buy your own store?" Ffoukes said, unsure.

"I dunno. I'm not a philosopher. I just know I can do whatever I want, I'm my own boss." He stopped himself suddenly, and Nathaniel thought that something must have just occurred to him. "Don't tell Anne, though. I don't want her nagging me about it."

"So much for freedom," Ffoukes muttered quietly, out of earshot from Bartimaeus.

"Now," Bartimaeus said, clapping his hands together, "who's got what? I've got desk."

"Store," Nathaniel blurted so quickly that his words were almost incoherent. Ffoukes swore.

"Fine, I guess I've got the back," he grumbled. "Don't expect much, though. If you're going to make me work out back, I'm going to fully take advantage of the situation by not doing any work."

Bartimaeus did not seem troubled by this. "Oh well. I just won't pay you for today, then. No skin off my back."

"Fine, I'll do my work! Don't get your knickers in a bunch."

Ffoukes, still mumbling under his breath, stomped off to the back room and quickly disappeared behind a row of bookshelves. Bartimaeus gave Nathaniel a cheeky grin.

"Good job, Nat," he said happily. "You've managed to find a way to make Ffoukes actually do his work. You haven't been working here that long, so perhaps you don't realize just what a feat that is. I must say, I'm quite impressed."

"You have no idea how much your words mean to me, Bartimaeus," Nathaniel said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. "Look, a customer. I must be off. So sorry to leave you."

He hurried off to help said customer, and when he returned to the front of the store Bartimaeus had taken his seat behind the desk. Quickly the store began to receive some traffic, which was somewhat unusual for a Monday morning, but Nathaniel did not have time to think about it as he was kept busy assisting customers.

Around noon business picked up even more, and for an hour and a half Nathaniel was busy darting back and forth between shelves to answer the calls of customers, several of which were not very pleasant at all and left him wishing to push a shelf down on them when he was done, or at least throw a book at them.

After one particularly irritating exchange, Nathaniel made his way to the back room. The customer in question had been a lady who did not really know what she was looking for and was having a conversation on her cell phone. It took him fifteen minutes to find out even what category of book she was interested in purchasing. Seeing Ffoukes's misery would cheer him up, though, or so he hoped. With his luck Ffoukes would be thoroughly enjoying reorganizing things for some odd reason.

When he poked his head into the back room he saw that he wasn't. Of course, if Ffoukes had actually been awake he very well might have, so it was tough to say.

"Ffoukes!" he called. The man did not stir. "Ffoukes!"

There was a flop of brown hair and Ffoukes was looking at him through squinted eyes. "Wuzzat?"

"Ffoukes, wake up!" Nathaniel hissed. He tried his best not to grin. "Bartimaeus is coming! Get up!"

"What? Why didn't you say so?" Ffoukes exclaimed. He hurriedly began mussing up his hair and trying to find something to work on. "Damn it! How close is he?"

"He's just a few shelves away!" Nathaniel lied. "Hurry!"

Ffoukes pulled out a box and began going through it with a contrived air of casualness. Finally, Nathaniel let out a laugh. It was just too amusing.

"What's so funny?" Ffoukes demanded, still messing around with the contents of the box. "What is it? What – oh. I hate you."

"You were the one sleeping, not me." Nathaniel crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "You should be working anyways.'

"Yes, well, you don't have to scare me like that. That's just rude."

"Oh, boo hoo. You deserved it."

Ffoukes grunted and set down the box. "You're not going to tell him, are you? That would just be over the line. No one likes a snitch, Nat. C'mon."

"Don't worry, I won't," Nathaniel assured him. "Although it would be such fun."

"Don't you dare," Ffoukes warned him in a low voice. "I'll personally make sure you can't snitch on anyone again if you do."

"Ooh, scary. That'll stop me." Nathaniel shook his head. "Stop worrying so much. I'm not that much of a git."

"Good," breathed Ffoukes, and he lay his head down once more. "Because if you were –"

He made a violent gesture with his hand that was probably meant to intimidate Nathaniel but only resulted in his further amusement. He decided that he'd had enough fun with Ffoukes by now, and so he left him to his sleep.

"He's not working, is he?" Bartimaeus asked when he returned to the front.

"He is," Nathaniel replied, not quite looking his employer in the eye.

"He's sleeping, isn't he?" Bartimaeus continued, ignoring his previous comment. "God. He's sleeping on the job. Oh well. Don't bother waking him up. Let him sleep. I want to catch him at it later. This should be fun."

"I never said he was sleeping," Nathaniel stated as Bartimaeus rose from his seat.

"You didn't have to. Don't worry, I'm not going to say you snitched on him or anything." He placed the pencil in his hand on the desk and began looking around for something. "I'm going out for lunch. When I get back I'll check on Ffoukes again. Don't go warn him or anything, or else you really will be a snitch."

"Fine."

Bartimaeus began feeling around his pockets for something and muttered in a low voice, "Where is my wallet? Blast it all. I – oh. There we go. I'm off. You'll have to take up the desk while I'm gone. You both can take lunch when I get back."

Nathaniel was about to say something in reply when he noticed someone standing outside the door. He narrowed his eyes for several seconds – the person looked familiar. They were staring at something in their hands and talking on the phone, so he couldn't get a glimpse at their face. Finally, they turned for a split-second and he mumbled a curse word under his breath and ducked behind a shelf.

He heard Bartimaeus's voice from the other side of the shelf. "What are you –"

He was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and clearly Bartimaeus too was stunned by the arrival.

"I will be over there in two minutes, I'm just across the street right now," he was saying into his phone. "Don't go anywhere. It's been hard enough to set this meeting up as it was. Yes. Very well. Goodbye, Ms. Harknett."

There was a clasping sound, as if he had closed his phone.

"Hullo," Bartimaeus said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I was looking for a book for my girlfriend," came the voice of Simon Lovelace from the other side of the shelf. "It's a relatively new book, and has something to do with a woman who works in public relations for some major company when –"

"Her brother dies? Yeah, we've got that one in hardback. It's a big seller. We don't have the paperback, unfortunately."

"It's no matter. The hardback is fine."

"Good. Right this way."

Nathaniel knew that book as well, and luckily it was on the other side of the store. He waited until they were comfortably out of earshot before he darted out from behind the bookshelf and hurried over to the front desk. There was a shelf near the front desk, a magazine rack that no one ever looked at, and he crouched down there for the moment.

This was not good. He had successfully avoided telling Bartimaeus about the Lovelace incident so far – if Lovelace saw him then that would completely go down the drain, and any small victories Nathaniel had won against Bartimaeus in the time since would be made obsolete. He'd never hear the end of this. What was more interesting, though, was the mention of Ms. Harknett, the same lady that Lovelace had been talking to the time before. And he had mentioned being across the street, too. There were several businesses across the street, but only one made sense.

Druid's.

He was cut off from any further thought of the situation, however, by the sounds of their approaching footsteps. He pulled his knees closer to his body and held his breath anxiously.

"Is that going to be all for you?" he heard Bartimaeus ask. He could hear him right against the counter and could tell he was about to come behind the desk.

"Yes," said Lovelace. Nathaniel could now see Bartimaeus behind the desk, but luckily he himself wasn't seen. He pushed his body back against the shelf as hard as he could and just listened.

"Very well. One moment." He could hear a receipt being printed and then torn off. "There you go. Have a nice day."

He heard Lovelace exit, and he waited several moments before getting up and coming out from behind the shelf. Bartimaeus paid him no mind at first; he was organizing several of the bills in the register. Only when Nathaniel drew near did he notice.

"What were you doing back there?" he asked. "I don't see any customers there."

"I was looking at a magazine," Nathaniel said, keeping a straight face. "There aren't any customers anywhere."

Bartimaeus smirked, as if he knew Nathaniel was about to get very irritated. "You're wrong about that. Your boy Simon Lovelace just walked in."

"Really?" Nathaniel tried to look disappointed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Must've slipped my mind," Bartimaeus muttered. He was looking at Nathaniel suspiciously, as if he didn't quite believe the ruse. "You don't seem so put out."

"I am, just tired," Nathaniel replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Yeah," said Bartimaeus. He didn't look convinced. "Right. Well, anyways, I'm going to go out now. I'll see you in a bit."

He left, and Nathaniel was left to his thoughts. On one hand, he'd successfully avoided Lovelace and any further embarrassment, but on the other hand, it seemed Lovelace was meeting this Ms. Harknett only across the street at Druid's right at that very moment. His conversation at Druid's before had been interesting, and Nathaniel suspected the seeds for scandal had already been planted. Try as he might, he could not fight his own curiosity – what exactly was going on behind the scenes with Lovelace?

Finally this thirst to find out overtook him, and he was about to walk out of the door when he realized there was a problem. Bartimaeus was gone and had explicitly ordered him not to leave until his return. And if Nathaniel left, there would be no one at the desk. On the other hand, if he left he could easily make it back before Bartimaeus, and there had to be a way to fix the desk situation.

Nathaniel grimaced. This wouldn't be fun.

He hurried to the back room, where Ffoukes surprisingly was awake, albeit lying down and not doing his work.

"What do you want?" Ffoukes asked, annoyed. "You haven't gone and snitched on me, have you?"

"No, I haven't." Nathaniel gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. "Listen, Ffoukes, I need a favor."

"Pardon?" Ffoukes nearly fell off of his bed of boxes. "I must have misheard. I thought you said you needed a favor."

Nathaniel had no wish to play this game, but he knew he must, so he tried to control his temper. "You know very well that I did."

"Oh goody, I thought you did." Ffoukes was now excitable, even to the point of sitting up from his resting position. "This is fun. Just let me enjoy this moment for a bit, I just want to take it all in –"

"Ffoukes, I need you to take the front desk," Nathaniel said impatiently. "Bartimaeus has gone, and I need to go somewhere, but we're supposed to stay here while he's gone."

"But you need to leave," Ffoukes finished. "Interesting. You'd better hope I'm not a snitch, eh?"

"I don't have much time, Ffoukes. Just do this for me! Just get out there and don't tell Bartimaeus, I'll only be a few minutes –"

"And why would I do that?" Ffoukes asked. "You were threatening me only a little while ago. Or perhaps you don't remember?"

"I do remember," Nathaniel replied sharply, "and I'll do it again. Ffoukes, if you don't do this for me, I'll tell Bartimaeus you were sleeping on the job. You won't get paid for today. But, you know, it's all right if you don't want to. It's _your_ paycheck, after all."

Ffoukes gave him a look of the utmost loathing. "Oh, you are evil, aren't you? You're seriously going to threaten me with that again to get what you want?"

"What can I say, I'm a bad person. Ffoukes, I really need to leave. Just cover me."

"Fine," he sighed as he got to his feet. "Just don't ask me for anything else after this. We're even."

"Deal."

He wasted no time in making his way back to the front and out of the store. Traffic was picking up, and he had to wait for a rare moment of inactivity before he could scurry across the street. He paused outside the patio area as he looked for Lovelace, and he finally located the businessman on the other side, near where the stage had been the week before.

"You need something?" asked the hostess, jarring him from his little piece of scouting.

He shook his head. "No. My friends are over there, I'll just go sit with them."

He made his way over to Lovelace with great care, and occasionally he'd duck behind a table if he saw Lovelace so much as twitch in his general direction. By the time Nathaniel had gotten within a few tables of the politician, he was practically crawling. He came to a crouch near a table right behind Lovelace; summoning his final ounce of courage, he stood up and slid into a seat. Lovelace was sitting with his back to him, and now the only things separating them were a table, a chair, and two feet of cement pavement. Nathaniel grabbed a menu and held it as high up to his face as he possibly could without looking like a complete idiot, barely even risking a glance at Lovelace over the menu every now and then.

"I must say, Ms. Harknett, I was surprised when I got your call," Lovelace was saying when Nathaniel stopped squirming enough to hear him. "So far you have been avoiding me. Your sudden desire to talk is somewhat perplexing, I will admit that."

"I've thought everything over, and I've come to a decision," the woman across him said, not averting her eyes from him. Nathaniel could see her over Lovelace's shoulder and saw that she was very pretty and had medium-length, well-kept light brown hair and seductive blue eyes. "So that's why I wanted to speak with you."

"I certainly hope you've come to see my side of things. It would be very unfortunate if that were not the case."

"Perhaps it would be." They were testing each other now, but Nathaniel had the strong feeling that Simon Lovelace was not one to be tested, and that this Ms. Harknett was about to get herself into a good deal of trouble. "Would it be right, though?"

"I certainly think so, obviously," Lovelace retorted. "Ms. Harknett, I have made you every possible offer, and you have declined each and every one. I really don't know what to do now. I am a decent man, but the next logical step for me would be much less pleasant for you, I'm afraid."

She stared at him with a steely determination. "If I weren't so sure of your noble intentions, Mr. Lovelace, I would have to say that that very much sounded like a threat."

"Perhaps," he said breezily. "Or I could have just been trying to warn you of the consequences of your actions. Either one."

Things were just getting interested when Nathaniel's spy work was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up and promptly let out a quiet curse word.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Kitty Jones, an empty tray in her hands. Her eyes darted to Lovelace. "Are you – are you _listening_ to their conversation?"

"Sh!" he hushed her, and he glanced to the other table. The two looked too involved in their own discussion to hear him, thankfully. "Just either sit down or go away! I'll explain later!"

"Why –"

"Please, Ms. Jones, I'm begging you!" he urged her in a quiet voice. He sighed. "Just sit."

She looked him over for several seconds before grudgingly obliging. She set down the tray and leaned over to him.

"What's going on?" she said (thankfully in a whisper).

"I'll explain later," he said. "Just listen."

He thought she was going to argue, but to his surprise she just pursed her mouth and sat back in her chair. Lovelace's voice had raised in volume now, and he sounded somewhat dangerous.

"Ms. Harknett, I am pleading with you," he said with abject iciness. "I have made a fair offer. You have declined my generosity, which is vexing, but I will forgive you for your boldness. Just take it, take what I've offered you. This does not need to become an issue."

"Do you not have any morals, Mr. Lovelace?" Ms. Harknett retorted in an equally loud tone. "I will not be bought out! She deserves to know! Perhaps you will tell her? That would satisfy me."

"You know as well as I do that I have no intention of doing that, and I would hope that you didn't either." His voice was lower again, yet it still sounded equally threatening. "This is my last offer, Ms. Harknett –"

"I do not believe you!" she burst out, her face contorted into an expression of anger. "First you lie and tell me you are an eligible bachelor, only for me to find out later – after we've already had an affair! – that you are in fact in a serious relationship! And now you wish to hide the truth from the one person who rightfully deserves to know! I am not seeking attention, Mr. Lovelace; I do not threaten to go to the media. I am only going to go to Amanda herself. She deserves at least that."

"Why does she need to know?" Lovelace asked. "And if she does learn of it, she herself will make sure the media knows! It's her job, after all!"

"That's not my problem, Mr. Lovelace," she replied.

He chuckled, but nothing was funny. "Yes, it very much is, Ms. Harknett. I've made my final offer. If you do not acquiesce to my requests, I will have to resort to other methods. And yes, that is a threat."

"I'll go to the police –"

"Oh, please do. I shall be quite amused if you do." He paused and took a sip of coffee. "The offer will stand for two days, Ms. Harknett. After that, I will send other negotiators to deal with you."

Her face paled as she realized exactly what this meant, and Nathaniel let out a gasp. This was huge! Simon Lovelace, a prominent businessman and politician, was openly threatening this woman! And with such nonchalance, as well!

"You wouldn't," she breathed, eyes wide.

"You're entitled to your own opinion," Lovelace replied smoothly. A fly buzzed near his head, and he watched it lazily for a few moments before catching it with his bare hand. When he opened his hand, it lay dead in his palm. "If I were you, I'd just hope that you are not wrong."

At this point Nathaniel was shoved in the arm rather forcefully, and he looked over to Kitty Jones with a look of irritation. "What?"

"Why are we eavesdropping on them?" she hissed. "What's so important about this conversation?"

"Can't you hear it?" he replied. "Lovelace is threatening this woman! This is scandal, this is! If this reaches the media, this will be huge! Lovelace's campaign will go down the drain!"

"Please," she snorted, and it was easy to tell that she was unimpressed, "politicians have survived cheating on their spouses before. It happens all the time."

"Perhaps," he said. "But do they also survive a murder scheme?"

Her expression changed noticeably. "You think that's what he's threatening? You think he'll murder her to keep this secret?"

"Yes! Have you not been listening, Ms. Jones?" He was quite exasperated now, but he did his best to keep his cool. "What do you think he meant by 'negotiators?' Did you even see that bit with the fly? That was straight out of a murder mystery movie!"

"I can't deny the fly thing," Kitty Jones acknowledged seriously with a nod of her head. "I may not like Simon Lovelace, but I can't believe that he'd murder this girl. It doesn't make sense."

"Oh, but it does!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember the other night, how Lovelace was on the phone when – well, you know? I heard his conversation, and he was talking to this same woman! This has been going on for a while, and Lovelace sounded desperate. He's been practically begging this woman not to say anything, and now he's threatening her! He is determined to keep this affair secret, and yes, I think he'll kill to do it!"

She took a deep breath and looked over to Lovelace's table before turning her attention back to Nathaniel. "You know what I think? I think you're crazy."

"Well – wait, what? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you just want there to be some scandal, because then you'd be in on something big and important," she continued. He wasn't sure, but he thought she was goading him, and he was none too happy about it. "That's just me, though!"

"Of course not! If you'd just listen, you'd realize that I'm right!" His voice had raised to a higher volume now, and if he had been inconspicuous at one point, he wasn't now. "You've got to admit, at least, that something suspect is going on!"

"Yes," she said, "but that doesn't have to mean there's some evil plot to murder this lady."

"Oh really?" he responded angrily. "So what do you think Lovelace's 'other solution' is? A light pinch on the cheek?"

She stared him down for a few seconds, and he thought she was just going to walk away from him. But she didn't. "I think he's bluffing."

Nathaniel had to seriously consider this for several seconds, because as much as he hated to admit it, it did make a good deal of sense. Lovelace had exhausted all other methods and had now turned to threats, but perhaps they were just that – threats. Perhaps he had no intention on following through on his promises, and was just trying to scare Ms. Harknett into submission. Of course, this also ran the risk of Harknett telling the police, but he had not seemed scared by that at all. No, this was not just a threat. There was something deeper going on here, a corruption that ran much further than he had earlier anticipated. Lovelace had hinted that he had the police under his thumb, and if that was true, murder was very much a possibility.

"It's logically possible, but I doubt it," he finally replied, voicing his previous thought process. "Remember when she said that she'd go to the police? He didn't even flinch. No, there's something else going on here, some real large-scale corruption. I think he means it."

She sighed. "Whatever. You can think whatever you want. I guess you could be right, but I think he's bluffing." She picked up her tray, hoisted it to her shoulder, and got up from her seat, pushing her chair under the table. "I've got to get back to work now. I'll be back in a little while. Listen, don't do anything stupid, will you? Don't confront him or anything."

"Don't worry, I won't," he said. "I'm not an idiot."

She gave him a look that told him she was not at all sure of that fact. "I'm off in fifteen minutes. If you stick around, I'll talk about it afterwards with you."

"Fine." Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling very weary. "I'll see you then."

She lingered for a moment before going off to some other table, and he returned his attention to Lovelace once more.

"You're bluffing," Ms. Harknett was saying, eerily echoing Kitty's thoughts. "You wouldn't dare."

"As I said, you can think what you want," he said. "If you do not accept my previous offer, I will turn to other methods of persuasion. I do not think I need to elaborate further. I do hope, however, that you accept my offer while it still stands."

"I – I'll think about it."

"Good."

Nathaniel tried to stop it, but a loud sneeze came upon him, and Lovelace twitched.

"Ms. Harknett, did you know the boy sitting behind me has been at his table for twenty minutes yet has still not even bothered to buy a drink, even when a waitress came and sat with him?" he said in a calm voice, and Nathaniel's face paled. "Quite odd. It's almost as if he's spying on us."

He turned around in his chair, smiling widely at Nathaniel, who was too stunned to move.

"I thought it was you," he stated. "I recognize you from last week. You seem to have a knack for ending up near me when I'm in the middle of an important conversation."

"Mr. Lovelace, I –"

"Oh, my dear boy, don't be so shy!" Lovelace was grinning now, which unsettled Nathaniel immensely. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and it was not at all kind. "If you wanted to join our conversation, all you had to do was ask!"

Nathaniel just tightened his grip on the chair and tried not to faint.

-


	10. Ten

Okay, here's the first part of another long chapter - the last one like this. It ends somewhat in the middle of things, but I tried to cut it off at the best possible place. Sorry if it seems jarring.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. And once again... I own nothing.

* * *

Ten

-

Kitty didn't have to work the day after Lovelace's event, much to her relief. She had planned on sleeping in, but she awoke at ten o'clock (her personal record for an off day: four-thirty) and despite her best efforts could not get back to sleep. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and meandered about her flat for a while until she made the mistake of checking her messages. She had gotten through two – one from George asking her if she could work a bit longer than she had planned (obviously before he had asked her the day before), and one from someone she didn't know that had probably gotten the wrong number – when a very familiar voice came out of the phone speaker.

"Kitty, it's Mum, just calling to see how you're doing." Kitty's face tightened as she set down her spoon to rest in her bowl. "I love the book, by the way, great choice. Now, I know you're probably busy working and having a positive influence on society and all, but your father and I would love it if you would drop by sometime soon. Anytime this weekend would be fine – Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. We'd actually prefer Friday, to be honest. I've got the day off and he might be able to get off work early, and we already have plans for Saturday and Sunday. Anyways, just call us back, even if you can't come over. We miss you!"

The message ended, and a cool mechanical voice told her that there were no more new messages. She massaged her temple with one hand without thinking, her cereal quite forgotten. Just wonderful. It had been so long since she'd gotten a _oh-what-are-you-doing-with-your-life-Kathleen_ lecture from her parents, and she didn't particularly miss them. Still, it had been some time since she had stopped by to see her parents, and she knew that she'd feel terrible if she didn't go. A very small part of her told her to hell with morals and ethics and guilt and family, but her conscience crushed this small rebel faction decisively, and she hesitated for a moment before picking up the phone and dialing in her parents' number.

The other line rung once, twice, three times, and Kitty began to hope that perhaps her parents weren't home or weren't up or hadn't paid their phone bills, and perhaps she could just leave a message and get off with a clean conscience. However, all her hoping was in vain, and on the fourth ring, someone picked up on the other end with a bright "Hello?" and she tried her best not to audibly display her disappointment.

"Hello, Mum, it's me. I got your message."

"Oh? You did? That's wonderful!" Her mother was far too energetic for this time in the morning, and this served to irritate Kitty further. "So what do you think? Could you come over in the next few days?"

"Well, I'm off today, so I could probably come over in a bit if that's all right." She said the last four words with particular emphasis and rather suggestively, as if to remind her mother of something important the elder Jones had to do somewhere far away that would prevent her from being able to see Kitty for another few weeks, at least. "I mean, it's fine if you can't."

"Don't be silly, Kitty!" her mother scolded her (although it could hardly be called scolding – it was too cheerful). "You know full well that I'm off today, and I'll be bored out of my mind trying to find something to do! I'm not as active as you – I don't have young boys hanging all over me!"

"Oh yes, Mum, because I've got so many of those. I had to disentangle one from my arm, actually, just to call you. All for you, Mum."

"Oh, don't flatter me so much!"

Kitty rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll try not to. When do you want me to come over? I'm eating breakfast right now but I can pretty much be over whenever."

"Oh, any time's fine, really," her mother replied. "How about fifteen minutes or so? That should get you time to eat and get dressed, and time for me to get the house ready."

"Very well." Kitty did her best to sound excited. She didn't think she did a very good job of it. "I'll head over there in a few minutes. It might take a little longer before I'm there, though."

"Oh, I know. I'll see you then."

"Yeah, see you then."

She set the phone down onto the receiver with a click and resisted the urge to grind her cereal into a fine dust with her spoon. She instead settled on shoveling it into her mouth as quickly as she could and chomping it with great force, although this was somewhat less satisfying than the other option.

When she was done punishing her cereal she got up and headed off to dress with little excitement. It took her longer than she expected to find something that would appease her mum (no plain t-shirts and tattered jeans, in other words) but not appear too ridiculous (such as that frilly dress she'd been given by her aunt last Christmas – this particular aunt didn't know her very well).

She finally found a nice blouse and a decent pair of jeans and changed into them. She diddled about for a while longer, but eventually realized that she should probably get going or risk further fretting and worrying by her mother, and so she left her flat.

There were several people waiting at the bus stop when Kitty got there, and she waited with them for several minutes until the bus finally arrived. It wasn't too far to her parents' house, but she would have to change buses, so she didn't bother even sitting down, instead electing to stand near the entrance.

Quite soon she reached her next stop, and she got off and waited for her next bus for another few minutes. This bus was much less crowded, and she did take a seat, as it was a good few minutes until she would reach the stop she got off at. A sense of dread had come over her – it was not that she disliked her parents, but more that she just didn't enjoy visiting them. She was very much unlike them, and they very much wanted to change this, which very much aggravated her. It just wasn't a good combination.

It was a short walk from the bus stop to her parents' house, and she tried to enjoy her last solitary moments as much as she could (to little effect). She soon found herself dragging her legs up the small stone pathway to the front door. It was a quaint house, not too large – her parents' salaries didn't allow for the sort of large extravagances that dotted the suburban streets around London. But it was her childhood home, and as many things as there were that she didn't like about it (the wallpaper, the cheap antiques her parents had bought just to appear affluent, several not-so-fond memories), she still was connected to it on a very basic level.

The door flung open and before she could say anything she was crushed by a vicious hug.

"Oh Kitty, it's been far too long," her mother said, kissing her cheek with just as much furor. "You should stop by more often! Why don't you stop by more often? Oh, I'll never know, you've always been a mystery…"

She continued on in this vein, and it was all Kitty could to squeeze into the hall past her mother. "Where, then –"

"The kitchen, dear. I've put a kettle on just now." They entered the small kitchen, and her mother made a disapproving tutting sound. "Oh, I know you've already eaten, but please let me feed you just a bit. You look so thin! Are you eating right?"

"Yes, Mum. I promise, Mum. Really."

"Very well, very well. Ah, I think the tea's ready." She got out two small cups from a shelf above her and continued talking as she filled them up. "You will have a cup, won't you? That hardly counts as eating."

"Yes. I'll have a cup."

"Good. Here you go. Don't stare at it like that, I haven't poisoned it."

Kitty had been looking at her cup with a very wary countenance, and even her mother's words did not particularly comfort her. "This isn't –"

"One of those strange flavors? No, don't worry, it isn't. I know how much you detest them. And besides, your father had an allergic reaction to one of them. Honey, I think. He hasn't been very fond of them since." She sniffed and took a sip of her tea. "Yes," she said, "perfectly normal tea. Try it yourself."

Kitty did. "Hm. Good."

"See? I'm not a complete nutter." A pause. "Don't smirk like that. It's not becoming of a young woman. I hope you don't do that when you meet nice young men."

"Mum, honestly!"

"What? I'm being serious!"

"_Mum…"_

"I am curious, though," her mother said without even smirking. "What do you do when you meet these nice young men? Do you giggle and flirt? Do you get all shy and stay away from them? Or do you give them an icy stare and an equally cold comment? I'm leaning towards the last one, myself."

"Mum! Really, that's enough!"

"Fine, fine." She stirred her tea with her finger absently. "Couldn't you at least try, though? You're a good-looking girl, Kathleen. If you'd just give it a shot I'm sure you could –"

"I know perfectly well that I could, but I choose not to," Kitty retorted, more anger in her voice than she had meant to intone. She twitched, and she set her cup down on the counter to avoid spilling if she repeated the action. "Really, Mum, I don't get why it's that big of a deal. You're much more interested in my love life than I could ever be."

"That's exactly what worries me!" her mother exclaimed. "You're going to end up forty years old and alone in some small flat somewhere without a husband or family to go home to, and I know then that you'll regret it!"

Kitty rolled her eyes for the second time that day. "I'm not going to hurry to marry myself off and become some ditzy housewife, if that's what you mean."

"You know that's not what I mean. Although I wouldn't mind if you were a housewife, if that's what you wanted."

"Oh God."

Her mother threw up her arms defensively. "I'm just saying! If it's what you want –"

"It's not what I want, Mum."

"Well. If it was –"

"It's not," Kitty said again, more firmly. "I'm not going to just stay at home and pop out kids for some class action lawyer."

"A lawyer?" Her mother looked off at the wall. It was apparent that she was considering this new concept. "Now that's a good idea. Do you want to marry a lawyer?"

"Mum –"

"Oh relax, Kitty, I'm only kidding." She finished off her cup of tea and set the empty cup down next to the sink. "Drink your tea, dear," she said, nodding to the cup. "It's good for you."

Kitty didn't argue – she knew it wasn't worth it. Slightly more sure in her ability to control her reactions, she picked up her cup and took a tiny sip. "Right."

"Hm," was all her mother had to offer at the moment, and they were silent for a few seconds (which did not at all disappoint Kitty). Eventually she spoke. "Speaking of your future… have you thought about school any more in the past few weeks?"

This was an even worse subject than marriage in Kitty's opinion, if possible. She tried not to look angry or irritated or any of the things she actually _was_ at this particular moment. That would only worsen the situation.

"No," she said simply.

"Not a bit?"

"Not a bit."

"I see," her mother said, and Kitty she had not given her the answer she had been hoping for. "You should."

"I know. You've told me before."

"Kathleen –"

"Mum, I'm not going back to school any time soon, and there's not much that you can say to change that." She sighed. "Just drop it."

"I'm not going to 'just drop it,' Kathleen!" her mother replied, slightly angry now. "This is your future you're talking about! You can't go throw it all away just because you're stubborn!"

"I'm not stubborn," Kitty said, finding herself also growing angry. "I just don't see at all how school will help me. It's not for me. I don't want to be a businesswoman or lawyer or anything –"

"But waitress has become a top job, I see. Funny. I guess things have changed since I was young."

"Oh, that's rich," Kitty retorted hotly. "And I suppose being a receptionist is so much more prestigious?"

"Of course it isn't! Why else do you think I'd want you to go to school?" She turned on the water with a great twist of her wrist and began to clean off some dishes, ignoring the little bits of food and drops of water that were spraying everywhere. "We've never been rich, but your father and I have worked very hard so that you'd have a good future, and now you've gone and squandered it all! I just wish – I just wish for maybe a second you'd be a mite grateful."

Kitty did her best to keep her temper under control, and only through sheer willpower did she resist the urge to just walk out of the door and back to the bus stop. She grated her teeth against each other and focused on anything around the room – the crumbs on the counter, the clock above the sink, the fly hanging above the trash can – anything but her mother.

After gathering her self-control she spoke in a very quiet voice. "Perhaps, Mum, if you are really so mad over my personal choices about my own future, then you should stop inviting me over for tea. Obviously today has not been a great experience for either of us. Next time you want to make me feel guilty about something, use a different excuse."

Her mother didn't look up. "You've always been such a headstrong girl. It's your biggest strength and your biggest weakness. Either it'll make you or undo you. I'm not quite sure which."

"Mum –"

"I'll tell your father you stopped by," she said. She turned off the water and began scrubbing one plate with particular ferocity. "Don't worry, I won't have him come after you about all of this. You know he's even more touchy about it than I am." She finally craned her head up at Kitty and smiled. "He'll want to see you soon, though. You'll have to come by later and see him."

Kitty looked at her, a helpless feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. "Mum, I am sorry. I know that… that you just want the best. But I don't think that's best for me."

"I know, you've gotten that specific point across very clearly. Go on. I'm sure you've got parties to go to, boys to flirt with."

Her mother was still smiling, although this time with a bit more mirth. "You know me, Mum. I do like to socialize."

"You always have. Don't try to deny it."

Kitty put her hands in her pockets and bit her lip. "Well. Bye, I guess. Say hi to Dad for me."

"I will. Goodbye."

Just like that Kitty left. As she exited the house and made her way down the street she felt just exactly as she thought she would after her visit – a bit irritated and a bit guilty. Her mother always had that effect, especially when she got angry (which was a rare occasion; her mother was more of the sentimental type). Kitty knew that this would most likely bother her all day, and that only worsened her mood.

She arrived at her flat after a far-too-long bus ride and promptly threw herself down on the sofa and turned on the television. She searched through the channels for something that was actually intelligent and well-written and complex – something she'd have to think about, that would take her mind off her visit to her mother. However, the choices that day were rather poor: the best thing she could find was a reality series.

This specific show did little to make her think or improve her mood, and she turned it off in disgust several minutes later. She thought about reading, or paying the bills, or washing the dishes, but she was not uniquely motivated to do any of those things. After coming up with all of these chores she could (and probably should) do and not liking any of them, she got to her feet and just decided to leave in a fit of spontaneity. She had no idea what she might do or where she might go, but anything and anywhere was better than lounging around her flat with nothing to do.

Kitty was just locking up the door to her flat when Mr. Button came hobbling up to her.

"Kitty!" he said cheerfully. "How are you doing, my girl?"

"Good," she lied. "And you?"

He chuckled. "Oh, the same, the same." He tapped his cane against the ground as if to illustrate his point. "I must confess that I _do_ have something to ask of you, though."

She knew his request would almost surely be harmless, so she nodded. "Sure. What?"

"I am going out of town for a few weeks to visit a friend in Athens. Now, this would normally not be a problem, but my assistant has not answered any of my calls thus far, and I don't want to just leave my flat alone." He frowned. "Useless girl, really. I don't know what ever inspired me to hire her. Anyways, I was just wondering if you might be able to look over my flat. Nothing major – you won't need to do anything really. Just call me if anything happens to it, and maybe take a peek in once just to make sure everything's all right.'

"Er, sure. But I don't have –"

"A key or number, I know." He dug in his pocket for several seconds before extracting a small pouch and handing it to her. "Both are in there. Now, you're a good young girl – I really don't expect you to go looting around my house. There's nothing of value to you anyways. Just a bunch of old books. Just make sure to lock up after you leave, though."

"All right, I suppose." She put the pouch in her pocket. "When are you leaving?"

"In a few hours," he answered. "In fact, I might be gone by the time you're back."

"I doubt it," she said. "I don't even know where exactly I'm planning on going."

He smiled. "Ah. The impetuosity of youth. Good, good. I do quite miss that just random energy that all youngsters have, where you just go wherever your legs may carry you! However, this makes it a tad difficult." He chuckled and touched his leg with a light caress of his fingers. "Well, well. I won't hold you up any longer. I think we've got all the bases covered. Just don't have any boys over at my flat, Kitty – I think yours will do quite well on its own!"

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Mr. Button," Kitty replied, grinning.

"Really? You _are _a pretty girl, though," he said. "A pity. The lads these days must not be as smart and opportunistic as they were when I was young. Or maybe just a bit more shy."

"Must be," she agreed.

"Yes, I thought so." He smiled at her once more. "I won't keep you any longer, then. Get going to wherever it is your youthful spirit might take you! I've got some last minute packing to do."

He shuffled back to his flat door and entered with only a modicum of difficulty. Mood much improved, Kitty set off, a trace of a grin still evident on her face.

Not ten minutes later she found herself back at Druid's, which was not exactly where she had been hoping to be on her day off. It was familiar, though, and really there was a lot to do around the area. Several restaurants, an Internet café, the bookstore –

At seeing this last one she stopped. The boy, Nathaniel, had seemed quite worried about her situation with her boss the night before, and he seemed the type to fret over things until he pulled out his hair. She decided to stop by, just to tell him that things had ended up all right and that the world hadn't exploded or anything. It wouldn't hurt.

She entered and found that the bookstore was not at all busy. The man from the other day was at the counter – Bartimaeus – and leaning over to talk to a girl sitting at the desk. He appeared surprised to see her, but quickly hid his shock.

"What a pleasant surprise," he said, not sounding very honest at all. "What brings you into my humble bookshop?"

Kitty looked around for several seconds to find the boy, but he was not there, apparently, or at least not in plain sight. After her initial surveillance, she looked back to Bartimaeus. "Is Nathaniel here?"

It was obvious he had not been expecting this topic of discussion. "Nathaniel, huh? I see you two have met up again."

"Maybe," she said, cool and calm. "Not your business, really. Is he here, though?"

"Yes, but he's currently indisposed. Meaning he's sorting out crap in the back," he explained, doing his best job at appearing casual. She knew he was just bursting with questions, though, and this amused her for reasons she didn't completely understand. "Why'd you want to see him? Want to know if he made the reservations for tonight? Where are you both going?"

She had to admit that this was even more amusing, and she smiled. "Very funny," she said. "Could you tell him that everything ended up all right for me? Just not to worry or whatever."

"Sure." Her misfortune continued as her answer did not seem to put his suspicions to rest. "What exactly happened to you two last night?"

"Like I said, none of your business. Just tell him."

"Will do." He looked her over for several seconds before nodding, as if he had decided that no matter how much he pestered her, she wouldn't break. "Pleasure seeing you…"

She soon realized that he was looking for a name, and so she gave him one. "Kitty Jones."

"Pleasure seeing you, Kitty Jones," he said. "Perhaps we'll run into each other again sometime soon."

"With luck," she replied, not totally dishonestly. "Goodbye. Make sure you tell him. I don't want him coming over and bugging me about it."

She added in that last part to quell some of his suspicions about his employee's love life. She didn't want him thinking they were an item or something.

"Don't worry, I'm a man of my word." He saluted her in a very over-the-top manner. "Farewell, Kitty Jones."

Kitty nodded back to him. "Farewell."

With that she left him to his thoughts and walked back out to the sidewalk. She still did not know where she wanted to go, so she just started walking and decided to see where that would take her.

Kitty ended up spending an hour or so in a café down the street and then the rest of the day back in her flat. She helped Mr. Button carry his bags down to the taxi when he left for the airport, and she did several chores that she probably should've done a few weeks earlier. Besides that, though, her day was quite dull.

To her relief, she was working the day after, and then again on Sunday. She worked overtime both days – she really could not think of anything better to do – and George was ecstatic, as he himself worked the longest hours humanly possible.

"I must say, Kitty, I'm impressed by your work ethic!" he said with a hint of pride as she came in to get an order. "Keep at it and you could be where I am one day."

She did not mention that this was not a particularly appealing option to her. "Really? And where will you be?"

"Owning the place, of course," he replied, as if the answer was obvious. "I'm still trying to convince the family to sell me the shop. They'll give in, mark my words – I'm very persistent."

It was no secret that George was trying to buy out the owners of the coffeehouse, and in fact was a running joke amongst the employees, as he had been spectacularly unsuccessful as of yet.

"I've got some great ideas for the place, too," he continued. "All that empty space above us? They own that, too. I think it'd be great to turn it into an inn or motel or whatnot, with the coffeehouse being the ground floor level. What do you think?"

"It sounds great." She tried to sound sincere. "Really."

He smiled and scrubbed the counter happily. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

Her workload over those two days was exhausting, and each day when she arrived home at her flat she could do little but fall into her bed, limp and near-lifeless. On Monday, she woke up feeling only a little rejuvenated. While the long hours had abated her boredom, they had also done the same damage to any bit of energy that she might've had previously. This day, however, she would only work until three, and she was the happier for it. She just physically couldn't take another ten hour day.

Kitty arrived at the coffeehouse at nine, and when she got there neither Gladys nor George was working. Instead, a girl she did not know was the hostess, and a woman named Ianna was managing the shop. Ianna was an odd character, almost the exact opposite of George – she was laid-back and sort of dreamy, and she tended to flit about the shop and check on everyone without any apparent effort, quite unlike George's hurried sprints from the patio back inside.

"Hullo, dear," she said warmly when Kitty arrived. "You're only working until four today, correct?"

"Three," Kitty said as she set her things down where she always did.

"Yes, yes, now I remember. Will you be working through lunch or will you take a break?"

Kitty thought over this for several seconds. On one hand, she was quite tired and in no way wanted to work any more than she absolutely had to. On the other hand, she _had_ already eaten, and she could use the pay for an extra hour.

"Through," she finally said.

"Good, good. Not to worry, I'll leave you to your work." Ianna smiled, and Kitty was shown a set of very white and very straight teeth for several seconds. "Ta ta!"

She fluttered off and Kitty watched her go for several seconds before grinning to herself and setting off to work.

It was an average day, quite unlike the two days prior, which had been extremely busy. This raised her spirits, and for the first few hours of work she was near chipper, to tell the truth. Around noon, however, she began to grow tired and hungry – never a good combination – and she became more and more irritable as the hours went on. At two o'clock she began counting the minutes until she got off work, and at ten minutes past two her counting was interrupted by the arrival of a familiar customer.

She was waiting on someone else across the patio when she saw him. He had sat down with a woman she'd already waited on, and they quickly burst into a very lively conversation, although you'd never tell it by the utterly calm look on his face. He looked very much like a statue, never changing. His only movements were to speak, and even then he was restrained.

Naturally, Kitty was faced with a small dilemma over the arrival of one Simon Lovelace. She had already been waiting that particular table, but she did not very much look forward to attending to him, and she was fairly sure the feeling was mutual after their incident the previous Thursday. She eventually decided to just avoid him as best she could, always making sure to wait tables a safe distance from him and to keep her back turned. Hopefully he wouldn't get thirsty.

These plans were ruined, though, when another familiar face showed up five minutes later and took a seat right behind Lovelace as discreetly as he could. Despite his best intentions, it was clear to Kitty that he was eavesdropping on Lovelace's conversation, and he would be lucky if he wasn't caught. She debated for a minute whether she should go to talk to him – really it shouldn't matter to her whether he was spying on Lovelace, it was his head, after all – but she eventually did.

Kitty tapped Nathaniel's shoulder, and he looked up, startled. "What are you doing here?" she asked. She looked over to Lovelace and the woman. "Are you – are you_ listening_ to their conversation?"

-


	11. Eleven

And here's the second part of Kitty's chapter. Thanks for the reviews/favorites/story alerts.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Eleven

-

"Sh!" Nathaniel urged her, almost panicking. He waited for a second and looked over to Lovelace with a good deal of fear. "Just either sit down or go away! I'll explain later!"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Why –"

"Please, Ms. Jones, I'm begging you!" He did look quite pathetic, and she could tell he _really_ wanted to hear Lovelace's conversation. "Just sit," he said with a sigh.

She thought over it for a short while – did she really want to get into this? Who knew what kind of trouble this could cause? – but finally set down her empty tray and sat next to him. She kept her voice to a whisper, if only for his sake. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later." It was evident that he was relieved that she had lowered her voice. "Just listen."

She thought about arguing with him, but she decided against it, and instead just relaxed in her chair and did her best to be quiet. Lovelace was talking now, and he was doing little to sound inconspicuous.

"Ms. Harknett, I am begging you," he was saying, although he did not sound like he was begging at all. "I have made a fair offer. You have declined my generosity, which is quite vexing, but I will forgive you for your boldness. Just take it, take what I've offered you. This does not need to become an issue."

The woman – Ms. Harknett – did not seem to agree with him in the slightest. "Do you not have any morals, Mr. Lovelace? I will not be bought out! She deserves to know! Perhaps you will tell her, then? That would satisfy me."

"You know as well as I do that I have no intention of doing that, and I would hope that you didn't either. This is my last offer, Ms. Harknett –"

"I do not believe you!" the woman cried, quite in contrast to Lovelace's very low voice. "First you lie and tell me you are an eligible bachelor, only for me to find out later – after we've already had an affair! – that you are in fact in a quite serious relationship!" Well, Kitty thought. This _was_ interesting. Almost like a real-life _Coronation Street._ "And now you wish to hide the truth from the one person who rightfully deserves to know! I am not seeking attention, Mr. Lovelace; I do not threaten to go to the media. I am only going to go to Amanda herself. She deserves at least that."

It sounded very melodramatic to Kitty, but then again, politics always was. Or at least that's how it seemed on the TV shows she watched. "Why does she need to know?" Lovelace retorted. "And if she does learn of it, she herself will make sure the media knows! It's her job, after all!"

The woman fixed him with a cold stare. "That's not my problem, Mr. Lovelace."

"Yes, it very much is, Ms. Harknett," he chuckled, and Kitty felt her spine stiffen instinctively. "I've made my final offer. If you do not acquiesce to my requests, I will have to resort to other methods. And yes, that is a threat."

"I'll go to the police –" she started, but he cut her off.

"Oh, please go to them. I will be quite amused if you do." He paused for a second for the effect of his words to sink in. "The offer will stand for two days, Ms. Harknett. After that, I will send other negotiators to deal with you."

Ms. Harknett did seem to get the point, and Kitty was taken aback by this. She could not believe that this Lovelace would actually do such a thing, send these "other negotiators." He was a politician, and surely he realized that doing that would only get him in deeper! No, he must be bluffing. It was the only thing that made sense. Although something still bothered her about this man. He did seem like the type who could very calmly order a murder while sipping a warm cup of coffee, but… it just didn't make sense. It couldn't be.

Ms. Harknett agreed with her, although perhaps for different, more personal reasons. "You wouldn't."

"You're entitled to your own opinion," Lovelace responded, sounding none too concerned. "If I were you, I'd just hope that you are not wrong."

This did it for Kitty. She finally nudged Nathaniel on the arm with a great deal of force, and he looked over, irritation etched on his face. "What?"

"Why are we eavesdropping on them?" she hissed. "What's so important about this conversation?"

He looked at her as if she had grown an extra head. "Can't you hear it? Lovelace is threatening this woman! This is a scandal, this is! If this reaches the media, this will be huge! Lovelace's campaign will go down the drain!"

"Please, politicians have survived cheating on their spouses before. It happens all the time."

"Perhaps." He looked back to Lovelace. "But do they also survive a murder scheme?"

Her previous thoughts about Lovelace's threats floated to the front of her mind. "You think that's what he's threatening?" she asked. "You think he'll murder her to keep this secret?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Have you not been listening, Ms. Jones?" His face had turned a fantastic shade of red by now, and she could tell she had aggravated him even more, which was somewhat funny. "What do you think he meant by 'negotiators?' Did you even see that bit with the fly? That was straight out of a murder mystery movie!"

He did have her with the fly bit. Lovelace had killed a fly earlier quite smoothly, so smoothly she couldn't believe that it wasn't preplanned. "I can't deny that," she admitted. She shook her head. "I may not like Simon Lovelace, but I can't believe that he'd murder this girl. It doesn't make sense."

"Oh, but it does! Do you remember the other night, how Lovelace was on the phone when – well, you know?" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and he did not seem very keen on explaining. Thankfully, she did know. "I heard his conversation, and he was talking to this same woman! This has been going on for a while, and Lovelace sounded desperate. He's been practically begging this woman not to say anything, and now he's threatening her! He is determined to keep this affair secret, and yes, I think he'll kill to do it!"

She paused for a second. Something about this was very entertaining, just his reactions and everything. She decided to have a bit of fun with him, gravitas be damned. "You know what I think? I think you're crazy."

"Well – wait, what?" His eyebrows narrowed predictably. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you just want there to be some scandal, because then you'd be in on something big and important." He was even redder now. Oh, this _was_ fun. "That's just me, though!"

"Of course not! If you'd just listen, you'd realize that I'm right!" he exclaimed, his voice rising higher and higher. "You've got to admit, at least, that something suspect is going on!"

She fiddled with the tray in a gesture of apathy. "Yes, but that doesn't have to mean there's some evil plot to murder this lady."

"Oh really? So what do you think Lovelace's 'other solution' is? A light pinch on the cheek?"

She gave him a good stare, the kind of stare that might make him think she was growing angry. And in any other situation she probably would have been growing angry, but she was still having fun with his reactions to her comments. "I think he's bluffing," she finally said.

He actually appeared to give this some thought, to her immense surprise. He was quite interesting to look at when he thought, Kitty mused. His left eye twitched every few seconds, but besides that he looked much calmer and relaxed when in thought than he normally did. He wasn't terrible to look at, either, when he settled down and stopped freaking out about everything. With some professional help and prescription medication he might actually become a looker.

She shook these thoughts from her head with a substantial amount of irritation. Her mother had been a bad influence on her.

He looked up, and her musings were interrupted. "Possibly, but I doubt it," he eventually replied. Even when speaking his thoughts he appeared more at ease. His words carried a certain air of confidence that were befitting of someone much older and much more respected than he, but not unattractively so. "Remember when she said that she'd go to the police? He didn't even blink. No, there's something else going on here, some real large-scale corruption. I think he means it."

"Whatever," she sighed. He probably had a point, but she still felt rather contrary. She began to pick up her tray and get out of her seat. "You can think whatever you want. I guess you could be right, but I think he's bluffing. I've got to get back to work now. I'll be back in a bit. Listen, don't do anything stupid, will you? Don't confront him or anything."

"Don't worry, I won't. I'm not an idiot."

While his words may have been confident, she was not, and she let him know this with a pointed glance. "I'm off in fifteen minutes. If you stick around, I'll talk about it afterwards with you."

"Fine," he said. "I'll see you then."

She gave him one last look before going off to another table. Although this thing with Nathaniel was interesting (and potentially very entertaining – who knew that a person could turn such a shade of red?), she still did have work to do for the next fifteen minutes, and she'd already slacked off enough as it was.

Kitty had only waited one table when she looked over to Nathaniel and noticed something that made her stop in her tracks. Simon Lovelace was turned around in his chair, face to face with the boy, and grinning.

She stood there stupidly for a second before coming to her senses. She couldn't hear what Lovelace was saying to him from here, but it would be none too difficult to make it over there under the pretense of working. She busied herself with her notepad and began to slowly walk near the two, finally stopping to pretend to tidy up another nearby table.

"Hm, you do not have much to say, I see," Lovelace was saying. She didn't dare look over, but she could practically feel his smirk from ten feet away. "Odd. If you're going to listen in like that, you should at least have a clever comment handy."

"Mr. Lovelace, please." It was the woman. "Leave him out of this. He's just a boy. He has nothing to do with this."

"Correction, Ms. Harknett. He _had_ nothing to do with this." Kitty peeked over at the table as discreetly as she could, and sure enough, Lovelace bore a smug grin across his countenance. "Now he has everything to do with this. I don't see what the fuss is. The more the merrier, really!"

"Mr. Lovelace, I swear, I never meant to –"

"We both know that is a lie, boy, but it doesn't matter if you meant it or not, because you did it." There was the sound of a chair screeching against the cement, and she could hear Lovelace get out of his seat. "Ms. Harknett, our meeting is over. You have heard my terms. Nathaniel, you have also heard my terms, and I hope that you do not make the wrong choice. If you do comply with my wishes, you will be rewarded. If you do not… there will be consequences. I will send someone over to the bookstore to meet you at a later time. Do not do anything foolish in the meantime."

Nathaniel was stuttering now. "But – how –"

"Your name? Your occupation? You have a nametag on with the store logo. I was just in there, and I presume you followed me over from there." Lovelace let out a deep, affected sigh. "I really should've had Jabor with me, but he would've ruined the discreetness I had been aiming for with this meeting. And honestly he probably couldn't have stopped you, or even noticed you. Detection is not what I hired him for."

The woman spoke again. "Mr. Lovelace –"

"Enough, Ms. Harknett. We have had our talk, and we will be in contact. The same to you, Nathaniel. With that, I must bid you goodbye." He preened his suit and began to leave, but on second thought came back and left a crisp bill on the table. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Do not worry about paying. This should be enough for anything we have ordered, anything you might order, and a generous tip." He smiled toothily. "This is just the smallest expression of my generosity. I hope you are curious to my other, grander expressions."

He let that hang in the air for a second before turning on his heel and leaving for good. The woman gave Nathaniel a look and sighed. "Now you're in this, too. Oh well. You really shouldn't have been eavesdropping, you know. But it's too late now."

"Wait," he said, and Kitty had to step closer to hear him properly, "could you explain this? I just want to know –"

"I think you've heard plenty," she replied swiftly. She held a locket in her hands and absentmindedly rubbed it with her thumb before looking at it and pocketing it. "You do not need to know any more. Take Lovelace's offer. Put this in the back of your mind. He will not want to harm you if he can help it – the risk outweighs the opportunity for some sort of revenge. No, take his offer and do not worry about this any more. I will deal with him."

"But – you can't! He'll –" Nathaniel struggled for several seconds to find the right word "– he'll _negotiate_ with you!"

Apparently, that was the best euphemism he could come up with, and even he seemed to realize it was a pathetic expression that didn't quite pack the punch he'd been looking for. Not nearly as effective in the way he'd used it as it was when used in a threat, that was for sure. The woman – Ms. Harknett – smiled. "No, the only negotiation Mr. Lovelace will be doing with me is done. He will not harm me. You, however, do not need to risk it. Take his offer. I will deal with him."

"But –"

"No," she said more firmly, shaking her head. "I will not argue the point any further. Goodbye, Nathaniel. Do not try to do something that is out of your league. I will take care of this."

She blew past him without another word, and he stood speechless for a moment. Finally Kitty decided that Lovelace and the woman were as good as gone, and she approached him, footsteps quiet against the pavement. He didn't notice her; he appeared far too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"You don't seem too cheerful," she commented. He looked up and, surprisingly, smiled.

"No," he agreed. "The last few minutes have not been my best. Did you hear –"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

She nodded. "All of it. Well, from the point when that lady started telling Lovelace off. I didn't hear what he said to you to start off."

"I see. You didn't miss much." He put his hands in his pockets, as if he really didn't know what else to do with them. "It was just more of the same."

"I thought it was," Kitty said. "You don't look too flustered for someone who has just had his life threatened."

He shrugged. "It hasn't really sunk in. Maybe it takes a while for these things to actually settle in the back of your mind and begin to really scare the living daylights out of you." He managed a weak smile. "But I see you don't seem to think that he's bluffing anymore."

"Oh, I do," she replied, now grinning as well. "I'm just taking it easy on you."

"I'm sure."

She adjusted her grip on her tray absently, not sure how best to go about this situation. While humor was easy, it was hardly appropriate. "I assume you're working today? I'm getting off in a few minutes – well, really, I'm technically off now – but that's not much if you have to get back to work."

"Yeah." He blushed. "Honestly, I'm not supposed to be here now. My boss went out for lunch and I pretty much bribed the other employee into covering for me."

"Really?" Kitty asked, amused.

He blushed still. "Yeah."

"I never would have thought it of you." Kitty looked at him for several seconds until something occurred to her. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? It's going to be hard enough to work without having this hanging over your head."

"I – I don't know," he said, rubbing his neck with some anxiety. "I don't want to irritate my boss or anything. And I don't really have anywhere to go, either."

"I've met your boss. I'm sure he won't mind. And don't you have your own flat?"

"No. I live with my – well –" He had now diverted his full attention to the ground. "If I got home at four o'clock in the afternoon it might pique Mrs. Underwood's curiosity."

She was interested by this Mrs. Underwood, but she was also intuitive enough to know not to ask. "Well, you could come to my flat. I'll make tea, and we can talk about this whole Lovelace issue." His face grew even redder at this, and she impatiently sighed. "Oh, don't be so ridiculous. I'm not asking you to dance with me across a moonlit beach or anything silly like that. I'm just saying that you can come and have a cup of tea and try to sort out your thoughts."

He didn't answer for several moments, and she suspected that he was trying to not appear too embarrassed.

"I think that's a good idea," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "But I think that I'll go back to work. I need to sort out my thoughts, but then I need to do something to take my mind off of this, and if sorting all of Bartimaeus's mislabeled junk doesn't do that, then I don't know what will. Yeah, I'll do that. I'll just tell him I'm taking my lunch break. That way I'll have an hour, maybe more if Bartimaeus doesn't mind the time."

"Fair enough," she replied. "If you'll just let me tell my manager that I'm leaving, then I'll be back in a second and we can head over there."

"Okay. I'll wait here."

Kitty looked him over for a few seconds before hurrying off to find Ianna. It took her some time to find the woman – Ianna had a habit of never staying in one place long, instead floating about the coffeehouse on a whim. Kitty finally found her in the stairwell leading up to the empty space above the coffeehouse. She didn't pause to think about why she was there. That was just Ianna.

"Ianna, I'm leaving," Kitty said in a brisk monosyllabic sentence. "My shift's ended."

Ianna smiled. "Oh dear, it's three already? Time does fly, doesn't it? Well, I won't keep you any longer. I'm not George!"

She smiled an especially toothy smile as if to prove that point. "No, you're not," Kitty agreed. "I'll be leaving. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Farewell, dear!"

Kitty had already turned around and walked off. She found Nathaniel standing where he had been before, and she motioned for him to follow her.

"Come on," she said as she made her way to the front of the coffeehouse. "I have to pick up my things. You should go ahead and go tell your boss that you're leaving."

"Okay. I'll meet you outside the bookstore, I guess?"

"Yeah, sure."

He hurried off across the street, and she went to fetch her things. After she had made sure she had everything, she walked across to the front of the bookstore. Through the window she could see him talking to his boss, who was just giving him that familiar, vaguely amused look. At one point she thought the man glanced over at her, and she had the urge to duck, but when she blinked he was looking away again.

After a few minutes of this Nathaniel emerged from the store, and his eyes darted around for several seconds before he spotted her and making his way over to her.

"Well," he said, "that's done with."

"Good. Any problems?"

"Kind of." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Like I told you, I wasn't supposed to leave – my boss was on his lunch break and had told me to stay until he got back."

"Ah. What'd you say?"

"That my – that Mrs. Underwood was having car trouble a few blocks away and I had gone to help her." He had paused again, as he had earlier, but she ignored the allusion, as she knew he would be uncomfortable with further investigation. "I don't know if he bought it, but even if he didn't he'll probably give me points for creativity."

"Good," she said. "Now, let's get going. My flat's not far."

She grabbed him by the wrist and began leading him off down the street. He resisted for a moment, but he eventually gave in, recognizing that she liked taking control of things and it was probably best to just get the hell out of her way. She grinned to herself. Smart boy.

"Where do you live?" he huffed at one point. She could tell he was having trouble keeping up with her, and the fact that he was being tugged along by his arm probably had something to do with that.

"Just down here," she replied. "It's nothing special, but it works for me."

He was in no shape to respond, however, and the rest of their short walk was silent. They arrived at the complex in short time, and she led him through the front gate and the parking lot and along the row of doors leading to her flat. She stopped at another door, just remembering something.

"Wait here for a second." He nodded, and she let go of his wrist and reached into her pocket, pulling out the key to Mr. Button's flat. She unlocked the door and jutted her head in for several seconds – there did not seem to be any alarm, and if there was, it was a silent one. The inside of the flat was disorganized and disheveled; books were strewn across the chairs and sofa. She was not much bothered by the chaos of the inside of the flat, as this looked very much like Mr. Button's doing, and so she withdrew her head from the doorway and locked up the flat.

"What was that?" Nathaniel asked as she put the key away.

"I'm flat-sitting for my neighbor. I'm just checking in." She licked her lips, which she had found were extremely dry. "Come on. My flat's just right here."

She led him to her flat, and he waited while she unlocked it. She opened the door and he filed in after her, and she spent several moments turning on all of the lights as he stood awkwardly in the entryway. "You can take a seat over there if you'd like. I've no idea where the T.V. remote is, but if you can find it go ahead and turn it on. Make yourself at home."

"Er, right." He sat just as awkwardly on the sofa and looked around for the remote with little enthusiasm. For a second it struck Kitty how odd this situation was for her – she rarely had anyone in her flat, let alone someone who she didn't really particularly know very well – but this _was_ an odd situation, after all.

"Tea?" she asked as she took out two cups from a cabinet above the sink.

"Yeah." He dusted off the arm of the sofa. "Please."

"How do you like it?"

"Uh, I'll just take it however you have it."

"Very well." She set about making their tea. "So… you work at the bookstore, right? Alexandria?"

"Yeah."

"What do you do there? I mean, what's your official job or whatever."

"I don't really have one." He shrugged. "I don't think Bartimaeus bothers with actual titles or anything. Really I don't even know what I'm supposed to do there. Each day I'm doing a different thing, usually."

"Ah," she said. "That… that sounds interesting."

"I guess." He delicately picked off a piece of lint from the sofa. "But cleaning out the back room is never any fun."

"I hate it when George makes me clean up," Kitty agreed. "I really shouldn't even have to do it, but the rest of our staff is very unreliable. Oh, the tea's ready."

They did not speak as she filled their cups and wiped off a splotch of tea that had spilled on the counter. She brought their tea over and gave him his, taking a seat down next to him.

He took a sip and set it down on the table. "It's good."

"That's a relief." Kitty took a sip and found that it was bearable, at least. "I'm not actually a huge tea fan. I can't be bothered to make it most of the time."

"Neither can I."

They sat there sipping their tea for some while. Finally Kitty brought up the subject they had come here to talk about, as he did not seem to have any intentions of doing so.

"So, what about Lovelace?" she asked. Nathaniel choked on his tea for a second, and she waited for him to stop spluttering before continuing. "I mean, what are you going to do? What are your plans now?"

He set down his tea and wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. "Uh, I don't know. I mean, I think I'm planning on taking his offer. I don't really have much of a choice."

"It seems like it, doesn't it?" she said, lost in thought. Her tea sat on the table, long forgotten. "But maybe – maybe he's bluffing. Maybe he's not serious. I… I just find it hard to believe that he'd do this."

Nathaniel snorted. "I don't."

"Fine, then. Let's say he's not bluffing. Would you be able to live with yourself if you didn't try to do something about him?" She was beginning to get into a rhythm now, and her voice was growing louder and louder. "I mean, he's so obviously corrupt! We can't have someone like that leading our country!"

"Yes, well, that's all fine and well, but I'd really rather not be the one to stand up to him," he said darkly. "Trust me, I don't like it any more than you do, but there's a slight difference between us: your life hasn't been threatened. Mine has. There's some motivation for me to take his offer."

"I know, but –" She sighed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not right."

"I know," he agreed. "But I really don't think it's something I'd like to die for, either."

"Yeah. There's got to be something, though." She looked at her tea with determination and stirred it with her finger. "Well… what if you just didn't do anything?"

A blank look occupied his face. "Pardon?"

"What if you just didn't do anything?" she repeated. "What if you just didn't do anything at all? What if you just delay as long as you can and try to force Lovelace's hand?"

"Yes, but what do I do if he sends someone along to 'negotiate?'" he retorted.

"Try to buy more time! Say you're still undecided or something!" It was all she could do not to stand out of her seat at this point. "And if you are able to buy more time, call the police! Then you'll have even more proof of Lovelace's corruption!"

"Slight problem, though – the police seem to be in on it. Remember what he said when Harknett threatened him? If I went to the police, I could just end up falling right into Lovelace's hands."

"Well –"

"No! I won't hear anything else about it!" He just about threw down his cup, and his temple vein bulged for several seconds before he took a deep breath and visibly calmed down. "I'm thankful for what you're doing, and the fact you're talking about it with me, but I'm the one being threatened, not you. It's different when it's your own life on the line. I'm not making a decision yet. I'm going to do what you said and force his hand. At least that way I'll have some time to think things over."

She knew it was no use arguing, and even if it was, she really did not disagree with him, to tell the truth. His decision made sense. As much as she could go on about the ideal solution and morals and whatnot, he was the one at risk, and it was his choice.

"Fine,' she said. "That's fair enough. I – just stay in touch. Don't think you're going to be noble and do this all alone or whatever. I want to know what's going on."

He smirked. "If Bartimaeus was here, he might say that you're coming on to me."

"Don't count yourself so lucky," Kitty smoothly replied. "I'm only putting up with the sight of your ugly mug to be nice."

"Sure."

"Shut up. Besides, I think it's a bit hypocritical for _you_ to be making fun of _me_ for _that._ Remember what you said when you two came over only a week or two ago? Don't you remember? Oh, your ears are going red – I think you do remember!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure," she said, echoing himself only seconds earlier.

He got out of his chair all of a sudden, still blushing. "Anyways, I should really be leaving. Thank you for the tea, it was delicious."

"Liar," she muttered under her breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Kitty smiled. "I'm only kidding, you know. Don't get your knickers all twisted up."

"Oh, now that you mention that I suppose I won't!" Nathaniel exclaimed, voice lined with sarcasm. Thankfully, he did not look nearly as red as he had only several moments before – now he was only a light shade of pink. "Really, we should keep in touch. I'm having such fun talking to you."

"Me too." She stood to face him, hands on her hips. She was only a couple of inches shorter than him – he really wasn't very tall at all. Not overly short, just not tall. Still, maybe he had a Napoleon complex. It was worth investigating. "You should be leaving, then. Get back to work. Your boss might miss you. Stuff needs to be done, right? I'm sure there are boxes to sort and shelves to label and corrupt politicians to spy on."

"You're absolutely right," he said in a serious voice. "I actually heard Devereaux himself might be coming in later today, and on the news they said there's been an investigation into his administration over an information leak. Maybe I can eavesdrop on his conversation and get threatened by him, as well! Ooh, maybe his and Lovelace's negotiators will kill each other off! Oh, look at me. You've gotten me all excited."

"So sorry."

"You should be."

"I am. Honest."

"Of course."

They stood and stared at each other defiantly for a while, each too proud to back down. He had quite plain eyes, so blue they were almost gray, but his gaze was piercing, and she had the distinct feeling that he could see right into her mind. She felt very bare beneath his gaze, and some part of her wanted to break it, as she almost felt ashamed of her seeming vulnerability. She did not back down, however, and he turned his head away towards the door.

"I really should be going," he said, and now she had the feeling that he had felt the same exposure as she during their brief little staring contest. "Bartimaeus will be wondering where I am. I honestly can't believe he's been as lenient as he has about this. He's fairly lazy, but he's the type where nothing's ever simple. I can't help but feeling he's let me go for some odd reason of his that will amuse him to no end."

For a second she thought of telling him of her suspicion that earlier Bartimaeus had seen her outside of the bookstore, but she thought better of it. He had enough on his mind at the moment, and no doubt Bartimaeus himself would be prompt in informing him of her presence as soon as he arrived at the store. She didn't even know if she had been spotted, really. It was just a suspicion, and right now he didn't need to deal with anything of the sort.

"Yeah," she finally agreed. "You should. You don't want him to take it out of your salary or anything. Or fire you."

"He won't fire me. I'm actually one of the hardest workers he's got. And besides, he enjoys annoying me too much to fire me. It would just break his heart if I left."

"Uh huh." Kitty very much doubted that anything could possibly break Bartimaeus's heart from what she'd seen of him – he appeared far too cold and detached for that – but she did not tell Nathaniel this. "Go on, then. I'm not stopping you."

"Fine."

In only a few steps he was at the door, and he hesitated for a split-second before pulling it open. He stood there at the threshold of the flat for an awkward few seconds, looking at her, all humor or sarcasm gone from his face.

"Really, Kitty, thank you for everything," he said after some time, his words coming out raspy and strained. "I –"

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I could do." She flashed him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Keep me updated. You know where to find me. I want to know what's going on."

"I will," he promised.

"Good," she said. "And if you don't come find me, I'll just come find you."

"Now I'm scared."

"As you should be."

He looked out the door and bit his lip. "I should go. Bye. Thanks for everything."

"It was no problem. Goodbye."

He stepped out into the walkway, and she followed to the door and craned her head out past the frame to watch him as he walked away. He quickly disappeared behind a wall, and she looked at the spot where he had last been for a moment before stepping back into her flat and closing the door behind her. She rubbed her eyes – suddenly she was very tired, but it was so early in the afternoon, really ridiculous to be tired…

Kitty started the coffee machine and poured herself a cold glass of water in the meantime, which would hopefully wake her up a bit. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she could only imagine what Nathaniel's state of mind was like at the moment. Poor guy. And he seemed pretty decent, too. A bit stuck-up and conceited, but all right overall. Hopefully this would all get sorted out in the end.

There was nothing she could do about that, though. She took a sip of her water and waited for the coffee to finish.

-


	12. Twelve

Sorry for the delay. But, if I do say so myself, I'm much more pleased with this chapter after the edit than I was before, so hopefully the extra time was worth it.

Disclaimer: In no way mine.

* * *

Twelve

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My walk with Lovelace to the other side of the store was a silent one. He surveyed the pew-like rows of shelves with an expression of the utmost boredom, and I spent the duration of our walk trying to match his impressive display of apathy. I was surprised, actually, that the kid hadn't burst out of nowhere and begged Lovelace for his autograph yet. Maybe he'd chickened out.

"This it?" I asked when we came to a stop, pointing at a thick book with a well-dressed woman on the front cover. She wore an outfit of dark red. This may seem unimportant, but if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's to always fear a woman in red.

"Yes," he said as he took it off of the shelf. He examined it very carefully, and I got the impression that he was looking for smudges, tears – any sort of imperfection, really. Apparently he found none. "Yes, this is it."

"Good. Anything else in this section you'd like to look at?"

He shook his head. "No, no, this is quite enough."

"Okie doke. Let's head back to the register, then."

I led him through the pews and back to the front. I walked past the magazine aisle and behind the desk. "Is that going to be all for you?"

It was a worthless question, as I'd pretty much asked him it already, but it was something that we taught our employees to ask, just in case. It never works, though. I really don't know why we do it. No one ever goes, "Oh yes, I _did_ forget that there are about five other very expensive books I'd like to buy! Thanks for reminding me!" which I think is just a shame. Less money in my pocket.

"That's all.".

"Very well," I replied, and I'm not sure if I hid my incredible disappointment. "One moment." I processed the transaction and handed him the receipt, not that it would do him any good. The printer was nearly out of ink, so you could hardly read what book he'd bought and how much he'd been charged. "There you go. Have a nice day."

I don't think he even heard me, which is also hardly unusual. He high-tailed it out of the store, his long legs stretching to lengths that would make a gymnast blush. Somebody was in a hurry.

I noticed that some of the bills in the register were out of order, so I began rearranging them; I didn't want to leave _everything_ to poor Natty boy. Interestingly enough, Nat himself emerged from the magazine aisle while I was busy with the bills. I gave him the same look a parole officer might give a parolee two weeks late for his check-up and asked, "What were you doing back there? I don't see any customers there."

"I was looking at a magazine," he replied. If he was lying, he sure as hell had a good poker face. "There aren't any customers anywhere."

Oh my, this would be fun. I could just imagine the look on his face when I told him that his idol had come in the store. Would he squeal? Would he groan? Would he just clench his fists and grit his teeth until his head finally exploded?

"You're wrong about that. Your boy Simon Lovelace just walked in."

I wasn't expecting what came next. I'd really done well, I thought, milked the statement for all I could get out of it. I'd said it with some bite, but innocently enough that he'd not think about me insulting him and instead think about what he'd just missed.

"Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

His words were rushed enough to seem like he actually cared, and he did a pretty good job of feigning disappointment. But something wasn't right about it. It was like watching a movie about drug addiction when the druggie main character's sober best friend is played by an actress that's notorious for being in and out of rehab. No matter how well she sells it, you never quite believe her performance.

"Must've slipped my mind," I said off-handedly. I think he could tell I didn't really buy his story, so I didn't bother with subtlety anymore. "You don't seem so disappointed."

"I am. Just tired, is all."

"Yeah. Right." I decided it was best not to pursue the subject at the present time. I needed some time to think it over, and besides, he'd just continue with his little bit of acting if I said anything. "Well, anyways, I'm going to go out now. I'll see you in a bit."

His seemingly careless attitude annoyed me for the entire walk to the little Italian place where I was having lunch. It wasn't only that, though – it was that he actually seemed _relieved_, of all things, that he had missed his supposed idol. It didn't fit at all. I was very irritated all the way through the appetizer, but the main course (penne with arabbiata, very delicious) made me forget all about that confusing, idiotic liar of a boy.

Somehow I had gotten myself into a good mood by the time I got back to the store. This had something to do with the news that Manchester City had won their most recent match (which I'd missed), but I think mainly that it was the pasta. (Trust me, it was damned good pasta.) I entered the store and grinned when I saw Ffoukes at the front desk.

"Ah, you're awake," I said brightly and perhaps too soon. He looked to be on the edge of dozing off. "You convinced Nat to do all the work in the back, then?"

This caused Ffoukes to stir. "Er… yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Really?" Something about his tone served as a warning sign – that and the fact that he'd forced himself to move around any small distance at all. Something wasn't right here.

"Yeah. Yeah," he said, this time with more conviction. He was putting a good deal of effort into this act, as well: the strain of this newfound consciousness showed in his facial expressions. "Yeah, he's in the back."

"Oh. Well, I'll just go check on him –"

"No! Uh, I mean, you can take the desk. I'm getting tired of sitting down, anyways. I'll go make sure he hasn't, you know, fallen asleep or anything."

"No, no, that's really okay," I said. Ffoukes wasn't very good at being subtle, and he'd only succeeded in digging himself into a larger hole. "No, I need to see something back there anyways. You stay here and I'll go check on him."

He realized that it was no use now that I knew something was up, and he sat down in surrender. I'm quite sure he closed his eyes as soon as I turned my back and was probably asleep by the time I reached the back room. At least he wasn't worrying himself to death over it or anything.

The door was closed, unfortunately, and stuck in place. That happened all the time. As a result, we usually left it at least slightly open. It took a minute of shaking and jimmying, but I finally got it open.

Surprise, surprise. Nat wasn't there. True, he may have been hiding in one of the boxes (he wasn't that tall, and he wasn't exactly fat, either), but I really doubted it. He would consider hunching himself up in a box below himself, even if it was to avoid me. Although honestly that wouldn't have been the first time someone had done that to me. Long story.

Many bosses would have been irritated that their employee was skiving off when they had expressly been told not to, although really that shouldn't have to be said at all. But as I walked back to the front desk, I felt rather amused. I mean, it was annoying that he wasn't doing his job and all that, but I kind of liked to see that Nat did have a modicum of rebellious teenage spirit in him. He was such a humorless kid most of the time.

"Funny thing, Ffoukes," I announced as I strolled up to the desk, jarring him from his little nap. "Nat doesn't seem to be back there. Odd, huh?"

"Yeah, that's odd," he agreed, unmoved. "Maybe he's somewhere else in the store."

"No, no, I don't think so. I'm quite sure he's not here at all."

"Really? That's… that's weird."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you're very shocked." I let out a sigh. "Listen, Ffoukes, just tell me where he is. I'm not going to rip your head off or anything if you tell me you let him go out and even assisted in it, as I'm already pretty sure you did, but if you don't tell me… I'll leave that to your imagination."

I'm not sure if he was at all encouraged by this. I don't know. I've never been good at comforting people.

"C'mon, Ffoukes. Who're you more scared of: Nat –" I snorted as loud as I could "– or me?" I did my best Godfather impersonation, voice and all. I wanted to make it clear to Ffoukes that I was making him an offer that he couldn't refuse.

To my dismay, he gave my proposition some thought. There's nothing I hate more than when people think about what I tell them, as it usually exposes some fundamental flaw in my own thinking. "Well, I don't think Nat's much of a fighter, so really I think I could take him quite easily, but while you aren't exactly buff and intimidating, you do seem like you've seen a fight or two. So I'm not sure if I could take you in a fight."

"You couldn't."

"But on the other hand, Nat's pretty intimidating in that evil genius way. Every time I talk to him I can't help but think that he's planning my demise. He seems like that kind of guy."

I knew exactly what he meant, and what kind of guys he was referring to (politicians, lawyers, corporate executives, boxing promoters, etc). Nat did seem like one of Those Guys, or someone that could become one of Those Guys. From what I knew of him he was intellectual, and he'd probably aced his GCSE's and all that crap. While I had no doubts that I was considerably more intelligent than he (as I'm considerably more intelligent than just about everyone), he was intelligent in a very threatening way. While I'm intelligent in an I-know-when-turn-tail-and-run kinda way.

"I see your point," I said. "But who can fire you? Huh? Now what do you say about that?"

"Oh well. I'll just get a job somewhere else."

"Wow." My jaw might have dropped. Just half an inch. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Don't worry. There's no reason to fire me. I don't even know where he went anyways."

"Oh. And you couldn't have just told me this five minutes ago and spared me this entire conversation?"

"Slipped my mind. Sorry."

I started to say something but stopped, realizing that it would be no use. Instead, I just gave Ffoukes a meaningful glance (which he probably did not understand) and walked over to find some customers to help.

I had only been waiting for a few minutes when the front door opened. I jutted my head above the shoulder of the customer that I was helping and grinned: Nat. Making a hasty excuse to the customer, I hurried over to the front, where Nat was looking around hopefully.

"Don't worry, I'm here," I called out, and he answered with a constrained look of disappointment. "And you weren't, which is interesting. Where were you off to, Natty boy?"

"Mrs. Underwood was having car trouble a few blocks over," he replied, and I couldn't tell from his face if he was lying, although I thought that he probably was. "I went to go help her."

"Mrs. Underwood?"

"The lady I live with."

"Ah." I didn't press the issue. I knew from personal experience he probably didn't want people probing around in his personal business. "Car trouble?"

"Yeah. She doesn't know much about cars. It turns out we just needed to flag someone down to jumpstart her."

"Right."

He stood there as I scrutinized him. I could tell he was trying to say something but was trying to muster up the balls to come out and say it.

"I'm going to go take my lunch break," he blurted out.

At first, I wasn't sure what I was going to say. On the one hand, I was almost positive that he was lying. However, if he wasn't lying, and he really had just been helping out this lady, then I couldn't be mad at him or anything.

It was at this point I noticed someone looking in through the glass, and a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. Well, then. It looked as if the waitress from Druid's, Kitty Jones, was waiting on Nat outside of the store. How sweet. She was waiting on him ever so patiently before their big date.

When I was able to tear my gaze away from the girl and nodded. "Very well. Go."

"Er… should I get back earlier or anything? Because I already left?"

"No. I can't blame you for helping this Mrs. Underwood out. It's understandable. Besides, business has been slow. Take your full lunch break."

He just admired me for a while, as if he couldn't believe that I was actually saying this. "Okay. Good. Thanks."

"No problem."

He stood there for another few seconds – if there was one thing Nat had mastered, it was awkward standing – before turning on his heel and bursting out through the doors. Ffoukes sat there staring at the doorway in bemusement for the longest time.

"Problem, Ffoukes?" I asked in an innocent voice.

"No." I gave him a second. "Okay, yeah. What was that for? Why'd you just let him off like that? He was obviously lying!"

"Can't prove it," I responded.

"So? Why should that stop you? Why do you need to prove it?"

"Good God, Ffoukes, I'm his boss, not the leader of some totalitarian regime. Although now I think I truly do know who you fear most." The door remained shut, to Ffoukes's great fortune. "And besides, if he was lying, it was a damn good one. He didn't even stutter or anything, and he knew I couldn't possibly disprove it. He didn't try to get too fancy, either, which is really the key – he just stuck with a good old-fashioned dead battery. He deserves it just for creativity."

I don't think Ffoukes was satisfied with my answer, but I didn't feel like telling him that the possible clandestine romance between Nat and the waitress amused me to no end, and that I was hoping it might go somewhere so I could annoy Nat about his new girlfriend, which would be a promising avenue for future entertainment. I then left Ffoukes to his thoughts, hearing mutterings about "preferential treatment" and "that idiotic lunatic" as I went to find my previous customer.

And so I went around helping customers and ignoring Ffoukes's irritated little comments for the better part of an hour. I had just finished up with a rather obstinate customer when Nat reappeared.

Ffoukes gave Nat a warm greeting. "Hullo there, Barty Junior. I believe your daddy's off helping a customer."

"What do you –"

"Don't worry about Ffoukes, he's just moody," I called out as I approached the two. I covered my mouth with my hand and whispered conspiratorally, "It's that time of the month again!"

Ffoukes was none too amused by this, I'm afraid to say. Oh well. You can't please everybody.

"Right," Nathaniel said, unsure. "Well. I'm back, obviously. All fed up and everything."

"So I see." I busied myself with a casual inspection of my fingernails – you always want to keep yourself occupied with some minute action when you're trying to look like something's no big deal. And the fact that my fingernails were surprisingly long and would definitely need trimming (or biting) helped keep my interest. "So… how did your date go?"

I glanced over the edge of my fingernails at him. I'd managed to shock him with this. I grinned to myself. Score one for Bartimaeus.

"I don't know what you mean," he said with none of the coolness he'd displayed only forty-five minutes earlier in that exact spot.

"Sure, sure, that's what you say now. You think I didn't notice that girl from Druid's waiting ever so patiently for you outside the store? Kitty Jones is her name, right? You think I didn't notice those subtle little glances she kept throwing your way?"

"She wasn't waiting for me, and trust me, it wasn't a date. And she – hold on, what?"

"Pardon?" I asked innocently, fully knowing to what he was referring.

"What subtle little glances?" he demanded, fulfilling my expectations. "What do you mean by that?"

I bit at one of my fingernails in an exemplary display of minimum concern. "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it, I'm sure they don't mean anything."

By this point I had decided that it would be imprudent to inform him that I was completely lying about those "subtle little glances" and had just wanted to see how he would react to them. I mean, it's not like she avoided looking at him or anything. And hell, she may have been looking at him like that – I wasn't exactly keeping a dutiful watch on her. But that's beside the point. Little white lies.

"What glances, Bartimaeus?" he pressed. His temple was throbbing something awful by now. Hopefully his head wouldn't explode from the all the pressure, as I'd thought it would when I'd told him about Lovelace. I winced as I thought about cleaning _that_ mess up. "What glances are you talking about?"

"Stop throwing a hissy fit, I'm just taking the mickey. She wasn't looking at you at all, far as I know." Nat's disappointment was impossible to miss. His bulging temple even seemed to sink a bit lower. "Oh, don't look so down. I'm sure she threw plenty of meaningful glances at you when I wasn't looking. Although she _is_ a girl, so even if you knew what glances she was throwing at you, you still wouldn't know what they meant."

He was none too mortified by this. "I'm not down."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm just irritated that we went through all of that for nothing," he said, ignoring me. He was getting unnervingly good at that. It was beginning to rival his skill of standing awkwardly. "Couldn't you just tell the truth for once?"

"Oh, come on, Nat. Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off!" I paused and thought over that last statement. "Wait. That really doesn't fit here, does it. Unless I'm implying that I'm a transvestite or something. Which I assure you, I most definitely am not –"

He dragged his palms down his cheeks. "Bartimaeus, I don't think you understand how much I don't care about your dressing habits. Really."

"Oh, I should have known that. Mea culpa. Let's turn the conversation back to you. How was the date, anyways?"

"It wasn't a date!" he exclaimed. I let out a disapproving noise. Nat had shown such promise in resisting my barbs. Right now, it was just too easy to drive him over the edge. "It was in no way a date! Get that through your head!"

"Now, now, Nat, don't lose your temper," I admonished him. (Admonished is a big word, I know. Hope I used it right. That would just be embarrassing if I didn't.) "Wasn't I the one who let you go have a lunch break right after you'd skived off from your duties? If anything, I think you should be speaking to me with a loving tone of adoration rather than an angry tone of irritation."

He sighed deeply and took a second to regain his wits. "Fine. I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry." I wondered silently if this was the first time he'd ever apologized to someone in his life. "But, to be fair, you are kind of being a nuisance."

"Fair enough. That's not the first time I've been told that."

"Trust me, I _know._"

I looked over to Ffoukes, who I had largely forgotten during this conversation. He was watching us both, and he seemed about to doze off. Typical Ffoukes.

Directing my gaze back to Nathaniel, I asked, "What was it? If it wasn't a date?"

He hesitated for several moments before replying, as if wasn't really sure he wanted to say what he was about to say. "She… she just invited me to have a cup of tea."

"Really? A cup of tea? And why didn't you both just have that cup of tea at Druid's, since it's just across the street?"

"She was sick of the place. Wanted to get away from it."

I was certain he was lying, but then again, that seemed to be the case most of the time with Nathaniel. He was following in my footsteps, and I had no idea if that was a good thing. "Right. And where did you go?"

"Pardon?" he asked, even though we both know that he had heard my question perfectly well.

"Where did you go?" I repeated in a loud and clear voice.

He hesitated again. "Her flat."

"Huh." I couldn't help the wry expression that I knew was coming over my face by now. "And did you stop to get condoms on the way back? I know there's a men's store that sells them right down the street, and they're on sale, too –"

"Shut up, it was nothing like that," he cut me off, although he wasn't nearly as hot as he had been earlier. "It was just a cup of tea."

"Just a cup of tea? And how did you meet up with her, anyways? Weren't you a couple of blocks away helping that lady with her car?"

"Yes," Nat said very deliberately, as if still thinking over his answer in his head, "but when I came back I noticed that she had dropped her purse and I returned it to her. We got to talking, and she invited me to have a cup of tea. It's as simple as that."

"Really? So a bird invites you back to her flat and all you do is have a cup of tea? I mean, at least have a beer or something. That way if you're rejected when you try to cop a feel you can blame it on the alcohol and –"

"You know what I've decided? I no longer want to hear _any _of your life lessons!"

"Oh." I grinned without remorse. "Sorry."

"Don't even bother saying that, I know you're not." He had a point. "Ugh."

"Ugh? She's a pretty girl, Nat. I mean, maybe you like blokes, which is all right and everything, but I don't think that –"

"Bartimaeus! Enough!"

He was so harried that I decided to give him a break. "Fine. Have it your way."

"Thank you," he said. "It's hard enough ignoring your inane comments, but your inappropriate ones… my God. Just please, _please,_ don't say anything like that around her, will you? I really fancy my skin all nice and bruise-free."

"You do realize that's just more motivation for me to say something like that to her, don't you?"

He threw up his hands in a sign of defeat and began to walk away. "I give up. Why do I even try?"

"No idea," I replied. I noticed he was walking straight toward the back room, which was odd. He hated back room duty. "Hang on – I imagine Ffoukes is about to leave. Why are you willingly going to the back room?"

He stopped in his tracks for about half a second. "I figure that since I haven't been in as much as I should have been today, it's the least I can do. Might as well."

I didn't believe his paltry explanation – this was becoming the norm with Nat – but I was forced to accept it. It was times like these that I really wished I could read minds. That would have saved me a lot of hassle over the years. "As you wish, I guess. Have fun."

"Oh, I will."

He disappeared behind a shelf, and I turned to Ffoukes. "Hey, wake up." He stirred, but only slightly. "Ffoukes! Come on, I know you're joking. You can't possibly have fallen asleep that fast, not with Nat talking as loud as he does."

Ffoukes opened one eye. "Damn. I thought I was doing a good job faking it, too. What gave it away?"

"The overdone snorts and snores." I approached the desk and delivered him a lazy nudge. "Get up. Don't you want to take your break now, anyways?"

"Yeah, but I'm quite comfy."

"Ffoukes, I swear, if you start drooling on the desk –"

"I'm getting up! Just settle down, I don't want anyone to get hurt!" With surprising energy he shot out of the chair and scurried out from behind the desk. "I mean, seriously, Barty, is there a reason that you want me out of here so bad? Looking for a little alone time with Nat?"

Thankfully I _had_ gone to school at some point in my life and thus was used to such schoolyard barbs. "Wow, Ffoukes, that must've taken a lot of thought, that one. For your information, I really don't care if you take your break now or not. I just want to sit down."

To illustrate my point, I walked around the desk and did just that in the seat he had vacated.

"Well, I guess I _will _take my lunch break," said Ffoukes with all the dignity he could muster after he'd discovered mine was the only seat around us.

"Good. Now, go on. Out of my sight!"

He scampered along and out of the store, and I was left in peace. To my immense displeasure, only moments later a rather slow old man came along with a ridiculous amount of books, and I was forced to abandon my hard-earned seat to help him put them on the counter. My luck.

The rest of the day wasn't worth describing. Really, I can do so effectively in two words: nothing happened. Before you knew it we were cleaning out the store, the three of us, and soon I had locked up the doors and bid my two little slackers goodnight.

If you really wanted me to, I could go ahead and describe just what I did after closing up the store, but I think you've probably gotten the point by now. It went something like this: eat. TV. Shower. TV. Eat. Newspaper. TV. Sleep. There might have been some other stuff thrown in there, too, but to be perfectly honest I don't really remember everything I did that night. So sorry about that. Here you were, thinking that I was a reliable narrator. (I am, for the most part. Although that would be a great twist, no?)

After waking up and doing all the usual morning stuff (throw the alarm clock across the room, have coffee, eat, brush teeth, yawn, so on and so on), I arrived at the store at the usual time. It was already opened as Anne was already there, of course. Overachiever, that one.

"Who's working with us today?" I asked as I stifled another yawn and leaned over the counter.

She didn't even have to check the schedule next to the computer. See what I mean about being an overachiever? "Jenkins."

"Jolly. Jenkins, the light of my life." I tried not to sound too whiny, which was understandably difficult. "He'll have back room duty. I can't deal with him today. Mind you, I can't deal with him _any_ day."

"The back room's actually in decent condition," she stated. "It's in a much better state than it was in last time I was here. Who had duty yesterday?"

I had to think about it for a tick. Give me a break. I'm not a morning person. "Ffoukes and Nat." I let out an unattractive snort. Don't worry; Anne was married, anyways, so it really didn't matter. "No mystery who it was that did the work, though."

"No," she agreed. "He must've been at it like crazy."

"Mmhm." My mind drifted for several seconds, and I was hardly even aware that she was there any more. I'd seen that back room before Nat had started on it, and it hadn't been pretty, to put it lightly. He really must have buckled down and pretty much waged war against those boxes to get it in any sort of decent condition. Now, I'm no psychologist, but from my experience, the times when I've worked the best and the hardest have been when I'm working to keep something else off of my mind, when I had a true motivation. Which of course raised the question: what had been Nat's motivation? Something with the girl? Shame that he had left work when he shouldn't have? A hole in his socks?

See. I told you I was deep. I really could have been a psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever they call them. I'm quite skilled at reading people. You have to be when you're a manipulative bastard like me or Faquarl.

Jenkins arrived. Technically he was a minute early yet, but the fact that I had gotten there before him really should have embarrassed him anyways, so I sentenced him to the back room in my best authoritative voice.

"That was harsh," Anne remarked as Jenkins stalked off behind one of the shelves.

"Meh." I shook off her comment. (Not literally, smart one.) "He needs it. And besides, what's the point of having employees when you can't have a bit of fun with them?"

I'm not sure if Anne thought tormenting the hired help was as fun as I thought it was, but I didn't bother to ask. Her demeanor told me that she wasn't interested, and so I glided off to a random section of the store (in this case, the self-help section) and waited for a customer to come by and ask for assistance.

Around noon Anne took her break and I took her place behind the desk. It was starting to get a little busier, but I wasn't going to go and fetch Jenkins from the back room. I couldn't leave the desk, after all. Of course, Anne _had_ offered to go and get him herself before she left, but Jenkins didn't need to know that.

I had just gotten finished with a relatively long line of people when he came into the store. The man in question was rather striking in appearance. He had a rough black beard and thick eyebrows that jutted out from his forehead, and he also probably had some of the largest hands I'd ever seen in my life. Seriously, they were massive. He had dull blue eyes and was dressed to kill in an expensive black suit. He was not overly bulky, but I got the impression he could bend a metal rod in two with his bare hands. In fact, I began looking behind the counter for something of the sort just so I could ask him to try it out right then and there.

"Excuse me, sir." His slow, smooth voice interrupted my impromptu search, and I returned the favor with a meek glance. "I am looking for someone, and I was wondering if you could help me."

"Er – sure, I guess. I mean, I don't know if I have a phone book handy, but I'm sure there's one online that I could look up –"

"You misunderstand me," he said with just a hint of a smile. His voice was unusually calm. Eerily calm, even. I wondered if his voice had ever cracked, even as a kid. I wondered if he had ever _been_ a kid. "I am told he works here. I believe his name is Nathaniel."

I did my best to remain neutral. I think I did a passable job, as his face didn't change a smidgeon. Although I don't think his face had ever changed, really. "Yeah, he works here. He's not working today, though. Would you like me to leave a message for you when he does come to work, though?"

"No, that will be all right." He put one of those massive claws in his pockets. "I have his number. I just wished to speak with him in person first. It's no matter, though. Thank you for your time."

He bowed – and I mean actually _bowed_, not just his head, either – and I gawked at him as he strolled on out of the store. It's a good thing no one was around or else I would have had to endure heavy ridicule for my idiotic expression.

"Nice face, Bartimaeus. Just stay like that for a second while I get my camera out."

Wonderful. I turned to look at Jenkins, who apparently was as annoying as ever.

"What're you doing out here?" I asked peevishly as I adjusted my weight in my seat and busied myself at the computer. "Shouldn't you be in the back room right now?"

"Nothing left to do in there," he replied with a smug look of satisfaction. "All done."

"Well, then, find something to do!" I suggested.

"But –"

"No!" It was my turn to smirk. "I'm the boss, after all. Go on, then, before I dock your pay! Go on!"

He glared at me for a few seconds before turning around and stomping off again. Feeling very pleased with myself, I turned back to my computer. It was times like these that I loved my job.

-


	13. Thirteen

Long delay, but I'm getting insanely busy. In a month I should have a clearer schedule. Anyways, here's the chapter, and it's back to Nat's POV. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own jack squat.

* * *

Thirteen

-

Nathaniel knew that he had not completely abated Bartimaeus's suspicions, but that was no surprise. The fact that Kitty had been seen outside the store was a trifle troublesome, though, but he would not worry about that now. He had bigger problems. Although really, on second thought, perhaps he should worry about Bartimaeus seeing Kitty – it would take his mind off of Lovelace, at least, and that was why he had consented to come into the back room anyways.

He set about reorganizing and categorizing everything with more furor than he had ever applied to the task. He filled his mind with thoughts of labels and boxes and genres and subgenres and authors in alphabetical order (by last name) rather than thoughts of corrupt politicians and policemen. The effectiveness of this rudimentary technique was unexpected. The job was difficult and seemingly endless, although he appeared to be making some small amount of progress. After two hours or so of this the room didn't look half-bad.

He had lost track of the time, and so when he heard Bartimaeus's yelling through the door that it was time to close he jittered and dropped a box. He was sweating by now, but the room was in much better condition. Maybe – hopefully – it was good enough so that Bartimaeus wouldn't see fit to have him work back there any more. But he was just getting ahead of himself. Bartimaeus would still probably send his employees back there, if only to torture them. Sadist.

They cleaned up in a matter of minutes and closed shop. Nathaniel took the bus back home and ambled up the steps with some degree of paranoia, as if expecting someone to burst out of the bushes with an Uzi and open fire on him – and Nathaniel was in no mood to dance. While usually he was very tired upon arriving home, tonight he was stuck in a state of extreme sensitivity: he noticed every movement, every little twitch of a branch or hop of a fly across the grass. Unfortunately, this feeling did not go away when he entered the house, and indeed his anxiety might have only heightened. Wonderful. He was going to _kill_ Simon Lovelace. Assuming Lovelace didn't get to him first, of course.

"Hullo, Nathaniel," Mrs. Underwood greeted him when he entered the kitchen. She was in a bathrobe and was watching the news over a cup of what smelled like apple cider. "How was work today? Good, I hope."

He considered saying several things such as "interesting" or "exhausting" or "potentially fatal," but he thought better of all of them, instead settling on plain old, "All right."

"That's good." She took a sip of her cider and noticed his hungry eyes locked onto her cup. "Oh, you must be starving. There's some leftover pasta in the fridge, if you want it, and some more cider. I just got it today, and I have to say, this is the best stuff I've had in a while."

He busied himself with making his dinner, and right as he had finished and sat down at the table, Mrs. Underwood got up from her seat. "Look at the time! Oh, I should be getting to bed. You too, Nathaniel. Are you working tomorrow?"

His mouth was currently busy slurping up a long mass of noodles, so he merely shook his head.

"Good, we can do some things around the house, then. And maybe we'll go to the Eye, too. I haven't been there in a while. Stop eating like that, it's disgusting. That's why you have a fork."

He sucked in the last of the noodles and let his fingers trace the outline of the utensil. "Sorry. Goodnight."

"Yes," she said, giving him an amused look, "goodnight."

He ate more than he had in recent memory. He had a rather weak hypothesis that the more food he ate, the sleepier he would become, and the easier it would be to not think about Lovelace. His plan backfired. Somehow he felt even more energetic and alert. Perhaps that was the cider's fault. Blasted sugar.

After testing this hypothesis for an indiscriminate amount of time, he decided his waistband couldn't take any more of this gluttony, so he stopped and rinsed his dishes out. For longer than he could care to remember he paced around the kitchen, occasionally sparing a glance at the television. His thoughts were a mess. Rather than focus on just Lovelace, his mind darted back and forth from subject to subject, each matter more worrisome than the last. How would this affect his job? Would this become public? What about the Underwoods? Would Lovelace try to embarrass them, as well? Would Mr. Underwood be stripped of his job? Would he be able to get into university?

Finally Nathaniel realized how ridiculous he was being. He had much larger worries than his public image or educational future. There seemed to be a much larger issue at stake: his life.

True, he had no proof that Lovelace would actually kill to protect this secret, and honestly he really doubted it. Murder was too hard to cover up. Extortion, however, public embarrassment… much easier to pull off, and the latter one was even legal. No, no, Kitty was probably right. Well, half-right. He doubted that Lovelace would actually stoop to murder, but anything else was possible. He _was_ a businessman, after all, and an aspiring politician. Morals were obviously of little value to him.

Still, one could never be too careful. If what Lovelace had alluded to was true, if he really did have the police under his thumb, what was to stop him from just simply offing Nathaniel and being done with it? No, no, he musn't relax, he musn't let his guard down. He would wait and see how things played out. He already was certain that Lovelace would go to great lengths to keep the news of his little affair under wraps, but he wasn't sure how far Lovelace would go yet. He would do what Kitty had suggested: he would hold off as long as he could and then make a decision. Perhaps he would call the police. It really just depended on how everything played out in the end.

He felt much better now for some reason – it was the unique sense of having a plan of action that you genuinely believe in, even if your belief is misplaced (this sensation is most common after attending rallies for campaigning politicians). He even allowed himself a smile as he recalled the events of the day: never in his wildest dreams would he imagine that in the same day he would become privy to a scandal _and_ be invited into the home of the waitress whom he had so feared twenty-four hours before. All in all it had been a very surreal experience. Although that wasn't to say it was irksome or awkward. No, no, Kitty Jones had been pleasantly talkative, and he had come out of it liking her a good deal. Not that he would ever tell Bartimaeus that, especially after the man's lewd comments that afternoon. Some things never changed.

Worries somewhat alleviated, he decided to head to bed. It had been a long day, after all, and although it would probably be impossible to get to sleep any time soon, he thought that he might as well try. He soon found that his suspicions were correct, however. He tossed and turned for what might have been hours before finally dozing off, and even then it wasn't a deep sleep: he woke up numerous times throughout the night at the smallest noises.

One such time he was jarred from sleep by a loud screech outside his window from an aggravated bird. He squinted at the window – it was morning but just barely. Maybe thirty minutes past dawn. He buried his head back into the pillow and pulled the covers high above his head, but it was no use. He groaned and threw his feet off the side of the bed, rising like a tortoise and loafing towards the door.

Fifteen minutes later he was dressed, and in a groggy haze he made his way downstairs. Mrs. Underwood was not even up yet. It really _was_ early. He spent a while trying to find something to eat (where did Mrs. Underwood find everything?) before giving up and just sitting down at the table, resting his head on top of his arms.

He had just begun to drift into an uneasy sleep when the patter of footsteps on the stairs caused him to shoot upwards. He squinted at the hallway, where Mrs. Underwood was nearly skipping along into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she said with exceptional cheer. He tried to reply, but all that came out was an unintelligible murmur, and she chuckled. "Oh, I'd forgotten that you're really not a morning person. You've opened some of the drawers, I see. Looking for food? Dear, that's why we have a pantry. Don't worry, I'll make breakfast. I'll be sure to make some tea or coffee while I'm at it."

"Ung," was all he could bring himself to say. After a haphazard search for the remote he found it to his left. He fumbled with it for what seemed like eons before managing to press the confounded red 'power' button.

Another morning show. The hosts talked for a bit about something that he didn't care for – something about a new cartoon show – but right as Mrs. Underwood turned on the stove they changed subjects and an excitable man in a bright green suit came on the screen.

"We now welcome Quentin Makepeace onto our show!" announced one of the female hosts, delivering a very white smile to the camera. "Now, Quentin, you're the top-grossing scriptwriter in Britain, but not only did you write your new film, _Swans of Araby_, you also directed it! How was that experience for you?"

"Oh, just thrilling!" gushed Makepeace, and Nathaniel did not doubt him for a second. He was a bundle of energy and eccentricity (which Nathaniel somewhat resented at the moment). He probably found tying his shoes thrilling. _My! Look at the knots and the loops! Look how they join together to keep these pieces of leather on my cold lonely feet!_ "Of course, I'd dabbled with it some – I was fortunate enough to have directed a few scenes in some of my previous films – but being the full-time director was a wonderful experience. Very tiring, but very exciting at the same time."

One of the male hosts nodded with gusto. "And you act as well!"

Makepeace let out a loud laugh. "Oh yes, but just a bit here and there, honestly!"

Nathaniel was distracted from the program when a large mug of steaming coffee was placed directly in front of him.

"Drink up," said Mrs. Underwood from behind him. "I don't want you acting like a zombie all day."

He gratefully picked up the mug and began gulping it down, only to find that it was scalding hot. He had to bite his tongue to prevent from spitting coffee all over the table, which only exacerbated his pain. He winced, set down the mug, and looked back to the television.

"And you're well known for your very famous group of friends, as well," one of the hosts was saying as she re-crossed her legs in her seat.

"Yes, I do have a few recognizable pals, I suppose. There's our prime minister, of course. Rupert and I have been chummy for quite some time. I'm also on good terms with Simon Lovelace and Rufus Lime, who I'm sure you all know very well. There are several others, but I hope they forgive me for not mentioning them. Being perfectly modest, it is a rather long list."

"Oh, yes, yes, we all know that!"

Everyone laughed. Nathaniel could not take any more and turned back to his coffee, probing it with his finger. Satisfied, he took a sip and stared at the wall opposite him. Lovelace knew everybody, it seemed. Perhaps the bastard really did have control of the police. He was connected to Devereaux himself through Makepeace.

After breakfast they tidied up and did some work in the garden, which along with the coffee woke him very quickly. The rest of this day was spent in this manner. They never did get around to going to the Eye – something Mrs. Underwood lamented later on that night – but it was a busy day all in all, and for the most part his mind was kept off of the Lovelace ordeal. He slept much better than he had the night before, and the next morning he awoke feeling much rejuvenated.

On the bus the next morning, he was caught in a fleeting thought when he noticed the man looking at him from the corner of his eye. Nathaniel turned his attention to the man, but the man did not turn away. He was an imposing figure in a black suit and with a full beard, and something about him seemed threatening. He stared at Nathaniel for several seconds before giving him a small smile and raising his eyebrows. Disturbed, Nathaniel got out of his seat and headed for the door, feeling the man's eyes follow him all the way there. Thankfully his stop was coming up next, and he hurried off of the bus and down the street.

No one was at the store yet, and he leaned against the wall near the window, eyes darting back and forth with resumed nervousness. The man from the bus did not appear to be anywhere around him, but this did not ease his anxiety. Eva showed up several minutes later looking rather tired.

"What's got you so jumpy?" grumbled Eva as she came to a rest next to him. "You look like you're expecting a hitman to off you at any moment."

Her words only made him feel worse. "No, just had an energy drink this morning," he lied. "It gets you up, that's for sure."

"Huh. I could use one of those right now." She covered her mouth as she yawned. "I'm – ah, I'm beat. I do not want to be here at all."

"Well, that's no good," called a voice down the sidewalk. Sure enough, there was Bartimaeus, ambling on up towards them. "Not that I'm going to give you the day off or anything. I could probably call Jenkins, but I'd really rather not."

Both of them nodded their agreement at that. No one liked Jenkins.

Bartimaeus unlocked the doors and they filed inside after him. He spun around on his heel and pointed to Eva. "You," he said, "are going to take the back room. Don't start complaining – Natty here had duty day before yesterday and must've gotten inspired or something, because it actually is somewhat organized back there now. Hurry, you."

She did no such thing and instead just began to lope towards the back. Bartimaeus then turned to Nathaniel and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "You had a visitor yesterday."

"Er… really?" Probably Kitty, no doubt. She must have been serious when she said she wanted him to keep her updated.

"It wasn't the girl. Don't get your hopes up."

Bartimaeus smirked as if he knew Nathaniel had done just that, and Nathaniel did his best to hide his surprise. "I didn't think it was."

"Bull," retorted Bartimaeus. "In fact, if you want to know, he really couldn't have been anything further from her. He was big and bearded and in a really expensive suit. Man, I wouldn't like to spill a drink on that outfit." He shuddered. "Oh, and he had the most massive hands. Ridiculous, they were. He could join the circus. I'd pay to see them."

Nathaniel blanched as the man on the bus flashed through his mind's eye. "I see. Did – er – did he leave a message?"

"No, actually. I offered to take one, but he said he had just wanted to talk to you face-to-face. Apparently he already has your number."

Nathaniel paled even more at this. _Lovelace knew where he lived._ He wasn't playing games. This man, he had to be one of Lovelace's men. There was no other explanation.

"Er… do you want me to go get the trash can?" Bartimaeus's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I mean, you look kind of sick, and I really would like it if you didn't throw up on the carpet. We just had it cleaned a couple weeks back."

"I'm not sick," Nathaniel replied in a voice that was stronger than he felt.

"Really? Funny, you're starting to sweat."

"No I'm not."

"Yes. Right there." Bartimaeus pointed to his temple, and Nathaniel touched his skin with his pinky. Damn it all. He _was_ sweating. "Do you know who I'm talking about? Familiar with any well-dressed bearded men with giant hands?"

"No, I can't say I am.".

"Hm." Bartimaeus's eyes lit up and he grinned. "Well, you never know. He could be a assassin hired to kill you!"

Nathaniel swore silently and started to wonder if Bartimaeus and Eva were in on this, too. "Oh yes, that must be it."

"Yes, yes, it makes sense to me. I can see plenty of reasons why someone would want to assassinate you."

He said nothing to argue against this last comment; his mind was too preoccupied with the possible – nay probable – connection between Lovelace and this stranger.

"Wow, you really _are_ out of it. Normally that would have you stomping around and spluttering, or at least asking what those reasons may be. I'd tell you to take the desk and sit down, but I really would rather that you didn't go and puke all over the computer. They're rather expensive, see. Even more expensive than the carpet" Nathaniel was about to say that that particular computer could not have been expensive at all, but he held back this jibe. "So you'll take the patrol. Take the trash can with you. I don't want your regurgitated food on any of the books, either."

He had no intentions of doing anything of the sort. However disturbed he may have been by this stranger's interest in him, he was not going to vomit or faint or even sneeze. He wasn't _delicate._ Nevertheless, the feeling of having Bartimaeus's gaze digging into him made him uncomfortable, and as a result he retreated from the desk and darted behind one of the shelves.

It was evident Lovelace meant business. He'd already dispatched one of his negotiators from the looks of it, and an intimidating one at that. Part of Nathaniel wanted to steal away to some tropical island and never be seen again – Cuba, perhaps, or maybe he'd just hide somewhere in the middle of Africa, no one would bother to look for him there. Another small part of him wanted to say to hell with Lovelace: if he wanted to play this game, then so be it. Nathaniel would play, and he would force Lovelace's hand.

And yet another part of him that spoke in a strong (and vaguely familiar) feminine voice was telling him to calm down, that everything would be fine, and to take a wait-and-see approach. Of course he knew this was the best option. The other two voices were just plain idiots.

He paused midway through the romance section and suddenly heard another voice in his head snicker at this thought process (no problem telling who that was). Great. Now he was schizophrenic.

That was it. Enough was enough. He would push all thoughts of Lovelace from his head. There was nothing he could do about it at the present time, and thinking about it just made him worry. It was plain old unhealthy. His liver was probably starting to give out at that very moment from all the stress. He would focus on his work and that alone. That was what he was paid for, after all. He didn't get a paycheck every two weeks to ponder all of the possible ways a corrupt businessman and aspiring politician could murder him.

Surprisingly this method was very effective at distracting him, although in all honesty he shouldn't have been surprised – the same strategy had worked only two days ago after he'd come back from Kitty's flat and all but locked himself in the back room. Thankfully there was a good flow of customers in and out, and he happily noted that many of them were idiots with no clue where any of the books might be placed. Thus he was kept busy for a good portion of the day and given no spare amount of time to worry about Lovelace.

Around four o'clock he was stopped as he passed by the front desk by Bartimaeus, who was reclined in his chair with his feet propped up near the keyboard.

"Oy, Nat!" Bartimaeus called, and Nathaniel was forced to turn his attention to his employer, who looked very content with his hands behind his head along with his feet in their informal position. "Now I know I'm not your mummy or anything, but you should probably get something to eat. I do find it _so_ annoying when my employees pass out from malnutrition."

"Oh, I'm really quite fine," Nathaniel assured him quickly. "I had a bar only a few minutes ago."

"A bar?"

"A bar."

"Last time I checked that didn't count as a meal."

"Times have changed," he replied as he scratched his neck. "They've got all sorts of nutrition bars and whatnot now. Meal replacement, protein, vitamins… all that stuff."

Before Bartimaeus had opened his mouth Nathaniel could tell the man didn't believe him. "Uh huh. Right. Well, as much as I love science and all, Anne would throw a fit if she found out you worked all day without taking a break, and you really don't want to mess with Anne when she's in a right state like that. Go on. Take a break. That's an order."

"Oh come on –"

"Nat, really! Go now before I dock your pay!" He took a moment to think over what he'd just said. "I've already used that one to no effect, haven't I?"

"Yeah."

"Oh well." His eyes narrowed and he gave Nathaniel a suspicious once-over. "Don't think you're getting out of this, either! Trust me, Nat. You've helped everyone currently in the store, some of them twice. I've been watching. As admirable as your work ethic may be, I've found that most people require food to keep living. Sleep and water are also recommended by most experts."

Nathaniel knew it was no use arguing any more. He could always go outside and then sneak back in somehow, but that was outright pathetic, and Bartimaeus already had enough ammunition against him as it was. "Fine," he said with a bit too much venom. "I'm going. Happy?"

"Oh, Natty boy, you just made my day!"

He ignored Bartimaeus and instead sped out of the store before the red-headed Satan could dispel any more idiotic little comments. He paused outside on the sidewalk and surveyed the business hub around him. His gaze fell upon Druid's, and his eyes scanned the outside patio for several moments before resting on a table in the middle of the seating area. A dark-haired waitress was waiting on two elderly men with an expression of uncontained boredom on her face. He smiled.

"You've got it bad, mate." Caught off-guard, he started forwards before regaining his senses and lurching around to face the store. Bartimaeus had moved the chair to the window, which was propped open with a copy of _Finnegan's Wake_. "You should buy her flowers. They always go for flowers. Or chocolates. No fat-free stuff, though. They take offense when you do that."

"Oh, shut up. I really don't have to deal with any of this nonsense right now."

The only emotion he could detect on Bartimaeus's face was one of vague amusement. "Come off it. I could help you, you know. Courtship's always a bit tricky. You need someone with experience –"

"Of which I'm sure you have none," Nathaniel finished, flustered. He turned away towards the coffeehouse. "I'll see you in an hour. Don't miss me too much."

He pushed forward past a slightly younger boy and took long strides across the street towards Druid's. Bartimaeus's last call hung in the air behind him: "Good luck! Whatever you do, make sure to compliment her clothes and her hair! It never fails!"

He now stood in front of Druid's, and if Bartimaeus was still yelling, his voice had been lost among the murmur of the busy street. For some reason he felt very nervous, which was completely ridiculous. There was nothing at all to be nervous about. He was on his lunch break. Why not go to the coffeehouse so conveniently placed across the street?

"Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there?"

His neck snapped upwards. The blonde hostess was appraising him with an apathetic stare as she tapped her pen on her wrist. "Er –"

He looked over to the patio. She was waiting on someone else now. She looked quite busy, actually. He shouldn't bother her. She had enough on her plate.

"No," he said after a second as he placed his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "No, I was just looking around."

Ignoring the hostess's bemused expression, he set off past the coffeehouse and towards one of the many other cafés or restaurants in the area. He thought he saw Kitty glance at him from the corner of his eye as he walked by the patio, but that was probably just his mind playing tricks on him. If she had seen him she certainly would have been over here by now, berating him about something or other.

He stopped and ate at a quaint little café not far from Druid's. It was a nice place, very relaxed. No Bartimaeus to bother him, no Lovelace in sight. He double-checked that last one but was quickly satisfied when he discovered the only other diners were and elderly couple, a pair of teenage boys, and two university students that were batting their eyes at each other shyly across their wedge salads. He ate in peace and listened to the conversations of those around him with some moderate degree of interest.

"Stop it, Eustace, you're making me sick," an old woman said to her husband, who was chewing with his mouth open. "You're embarrassing me, Eust."

"Ah, dun' be sutt uh spohshport," replied Eustace, proudly displaying his mouthful of roast beef. He swallowed and checked his watch. "We need to leave in a few minutes if we want to make the movie."

"Good. I _have_ been looking forward to this movie so much." She feinted into a swoon. "I love Makepeace. His films are so fantastic."

Eustace dipped his sandwich into a dark brown aju sauce and shook his head. "I don't like him much, Makepeace. He gives me the creeps. I've heard people say he's into odd things."

"Yes, well you also believe the moon landing was staged, so I don't put much store by your opinions."

Two teenagers probably the same age as him were chatting loudly behind him.

"I'm telling you, girls like it when you get all sentimental," said one to the other as if divulging some great secret. "You go up to them and you go, 'Hey, I really fancy you. I can't stop thinking when I'm around you. My heart flutters –' all that junk. Improvise a bit, go with the flow. Bring tissues." He grinned and wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "And a condom."

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly like I can go up to one of my best friends and just say, 'Oh by the way, I happen to be in love with you, let's shag,'" argued the other boy. "I don't think she'd like that much. It seems a bit sudden, don't you think?"

As much as Nathaniel would have loved to continue listening in on this conversation, it was getting late, and he knew he should be getting back. Finishing off the rest of his salad and leaving a crisp note on the table, he got out of his seat and headed back towards the store.

Initially his plan had been to creep in behind a group of customers and hope that Bartimaeus didn't see him. However, that went to pieces quickly – the group of customers he had chosen dispersed pretty much as soon as they were in the door (there was a squabble over where the fantasy section was, although ironically none of them were correct). His shoulders sagged in defeat, and he had already opened his mouth to defend himself when he was cut off.

"He's not here." It was Eva behind the desk. "He left for lunch."

"Oh."

"Although your little stunt right there was pretty funny. Too bad I could see you the entire time. Next time don't crouch. It only makes you stick out more."

He waved off her comment breezily, feeling much relieved at Bartimaeus's absence. "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember that next time."

She was soon busied with a customer, and so he went off to find someone to help. From that point forward he immersed himself in his work, and even after Bartimaeus's return he was largely able to block out his boss's comments (which were in astoundingly short supply). He lost track of the time – he had never bothered with a watch – and was caught off-guard when Bartimeus alerted him that it was time to close up, much as he had been startled only two nights before. He felt an amazing sense of accomplishment. He had not given more than a moment's thought to Lovelace for the entirety of the afternoon.

When Nathaniel exited the store, however, he was faced with a small dilemma. He obviously did not want to take the bus home; the stranger's face still played in his mind, a Technicolor collage of threats and assassinations. It was much too far to walk, and cabs were far too expensive. He stood there for a while before remembering that there was a subway station only a few blocks away: while the nearest station to the house was a decent walk, he was much less frightened by the thought of a potential mugging than another run-in with the tuxedoed stranger.

While the subway was definitely faster than the bus, the walking time in between stations made his arrival home a fair deal later than it usually was. Mr. Underwood was in the kitchen when he entered, and Mrs. Underwood soon scurried in from the sitting room when she heard the opening of the front door.

"Good," Mr. Underwood stated. "Now we can eat. Martha's insisted that we wait on you."

Nathaniel took his seat next to the wall. "I'm sorry. Have you been waiting long?"

"No. Only thirty minutes. But it's still far too long."

"Yes, yes, Arthur, I _know_." Mrs. Underwood made a face behind his back. "Nathaniel, would you help me with preparing everything? Arthur professes to being too tired to help. Although he will be grilling on Saturday," she added in a firm tone.

Even Mr. Underwood knew not to argue with that. "Yes, of course. I look forward to it."

"I'm sure," Mrs. Underwood replied, and Nathaniel grinned. "Oh, Arthur, I forgot to tell you that the people from Terence's business called. They wanted to come check out the house next week."

"Very well. Tell them to do it on the weekend. I don't trust those people."

"Arthur!" she scolded him. "I thought you and Terence were on good terms!"

Mr. Underwood was not affected by this. "We are. But he'd say the same thing about himself."

Nathaniel began chopping up the onions as Mrs. Underwood got out a large pot from one of the cabinets. "There you go," she said. "We're not doing anything fancy, just a nice stew. After you're done with the onions get out some of the leftover meat and begin cutting up that."

She filled the pot with water and set it on the stove. Right after she had turned on the heat, the phone rang, and she hurried to answer it.

"Hello?" Nathaniel listened without looking over – he'd cut his fingers enough times to know not to do that. "Yes, he's right here. Hold on." She walked back over to him and stuck out her arm, phone in hand. "It's for you."

He set down his knife and stared at the phone, as did Mr. Underwood, who had actually looked away from whatever magazine he was reading to watch this turn of events. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually gotten a phone call. He didn't know if he'd _ever_ gotten a phone call.

He took the phone and placed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello." It was a man's voice, low and calm and just a hint gravelly. "This is Nathaniel, correct?"

For some inexplicable reason he briefly considered denying it, but he got over that quickly. "Yes."

"Good," said the man. "You are probably wondering who I am and why I am calling. I work for Simon Lovelace, and I think you know just what this call is about."

"Oh." Nathaniel swallowed a lump in his throat and smiled weakly at the Underwoods, who were watching him with a great degree of interest. He mouthed, "A girl" to them, and Mrs. Underwood grinned and began tending to the pot while Mr. Underwood lost all interest in the subject and turned back to his reading. Nathaniel crept out of the kitchen, sensing Mrs. Underwood's eyes on his back as he went. "Yes, he said he would be in contact."

"And thus I am talking to you now. Before I go on, you should know that we have already been acquainted."

"Oh really?" replied Nathaniel in a whisper, surprised.

"Yes. I believe you saw me this morning on your bus."

Nathaniel leaned back against the wall with a thud. His suspicions of the stranger had been right. Sweat started to run down his neck, and he wiped his forehead with the top of his shirt before saying in a hushed voice, "Really. I thought you might be one of Lovelace's men."

"You were correct," said the man. "I've also met your employer. Nice man."

Normally Nathaniel would have laughed at this, but he had neither strength nor inclination to do so. "I see. And do you have a name?"

"No." There was a hint of humor in the man's voice now. "Not one that I use, anyways. In my profession names are a hindrance."

"Uh huh." Nathaniel knew he would probably regret asking, but he couldn't resist. "And what profession would that be?"

"I am a mercenary." His knees finally gave out and he fell to the floor with a muffled thump. "As soon as you have gotten yourself up from the floor, we may continue this conversation."

Nathaniel did not inquire as to how the mercenary knew he had fallen to the floor. In his line of business that was probably a very common response. "Fine. I am up."

"No you're not, but that's beside the point. Stay seated." He followed this order dutifully.. "Now, to business. Mr. Lovelace would like to know if you have considered his offer."

"I – I have."

"And your answer?"

"I need more time to think about it," he said. He did not know how he opened his mouth or got the words out or even was able to hold the phone up. He suddenly felt very weak. "It is a difficult matter."

The mercenary sighed on the other end of the line. "Lovelace said that you would say something like that. Very well. You will have more time. I will call tomorrow. Do not think Mr. Lovelace will remain so generous. I admit I have not been in his employ long, but I have been frustrated in the fact that I have not been able to, ah, give him my full services as of yet. If you do not take the offer, however, I think my frustration will be abated."

Nathaniel considered the weight of this statement for several seconds. "I see."

"Good. Take the offer. It is much better than the alternative. Everything will be fine if you only accept his terms. He will compensate you handsomely. He is a very rich man, as we both know."

"I'll think about it."

"Think quickly. I will call again tomorrow. Have your answer ready."

There was a click and Nathaniel knew that the mercenary had hung up. He did not move for quite some time, still in an intellectual furor, going over the conversation in his mind. His time was running short. He couldn't ignore this much longer.

Through some miracle of a probably nonexistent deity he found the strength to get to his feet. He waited before going back into the kitchen and composed himself, and afterwards he entered, only shaking slightly. Mrs. Underwood turned and beamed at him, while Mr. Underwood's attention remained on his magazine.

"Ah, I'm almost done. Just a bit longer," she said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Nathaniel lied, managing to maintain a feeble smile. "Yes, everything's fine."

"Good. Now, if you'd just get out the silverware…"

She turned, oblivious to his extreme discomfort, and thus did not see him prod open a cabinet and slip the telephone inside.

-


	14. Fourteen

Yeah, I take forever, I'm sorry, yadda yadda yadda. What do you expect by now, anyhow?

Disclaimer: I own jack squat.

* * *

Fourteen

-

Kitty was working the day after her discussion with Nathaniel, although she was honest enough to admit to herself that she probably wasn't doing a very good job. She was even shorter with customers than she usually was and forgot more orders than she had in some time. To be fair, she did have quite a bit on her mind, even excluding the Lovelace business. For some reason her visit to her mother kept playing back in her mind; perhaps it was the sudden influx of university students the coffeehouse seemed to be having.

"Something wrong, Kitty?" George asked her as she came back to fix one of her botched orders. "You've been looking out of it all day."

"No," she said, more hotly than she should have. "Everything's just fine, thank you."

George didn't appreciate her tone. "Fine, sorry for asking. My mistake."

He stalked off to go do whatever it was he always did, and Kitty groaned. Great, she'd gone and pretty much bitten off her boss's head. Wonderful day.

"Don't worry about it," Ianna said from her position behind the counter. "Men just don't understand what it's like for us during that time."

"What?" Suddenly the meaning of Ianna's statement dawned on Kitty, and any dignity she might have once possessed was lost in a violent convulsion. "Oh, it's not – it's not that! That was two – it doesn't matter when that was! It's not that time!"

"Really? I was so sure it was. Mine should start again in a few days. I can't say that I'm looking forward to it much." Kitty nearly spilled the tea she'd come to get. Ianna burst into a fit of giggles and knocked over several cups. "Oh, clumsy me."

Kitty excused herself with her order and hurried out to the tables. Ianna could be very odd sometimes.

She somehow made it through the day, which would remain a mystery to her for many years afterward considering her distracted and irritable state at the time. When she got back to her flat she threw her things down on the sofa and herself onto a chair near the counter. She listened to her messages – she deleted those from her landlord and doctor but was about to do the same to the third message without listening to it when she heard the speaker's voice and straightened up in her seat.

"Hello, Kitty," said a familiar male voice. "It's Jakob. It's been a while since I've seen you. Your mum says you're doing well and all, but I get the feeling she really isn't privy to much of your day-to-day workings. No reason I'm calling, really, just wanted to catch up. You can call me back at this number without worrying about my brothers picking up or anything – I've got a flat to myself near the press now. Anyways, just checking up on you. Give me a call. Bye."

She saved the message and was informed by the machine that that was the end of her new messages. She sat back in her chair and stared at the machine, lost in thought. It had really had been a long time since she had seen Jakob, who had been her best friend as a kid. His family owned a large printing press, and she and Jakob had spent many summer days going on adventures around the neighborhood and playing cricket in places they probably shouldn't have. After she'd moved, however, she'd only seen him once or twice. It would be nice to see him, she decided. She wouldn't call him back now – she'd probably end up yelling at him or something equally rash and stupid – but his call had soothed her nerves to some degree, and that, at least, was good.

Kitty spent the rest of the afternoon in considerably better spirits, but that really wasn't saying much. For some reason she kept expecting a knock on her door, and she even caught herself glancing at it every few minutes before she forced herself to stop. Perhaps Lovelace hadn't contacted Nathaniel yet. Perhaps this would all just blow over. Yes, that was what would probably happen.

The next day when she went into work she was not nearly as snappish, which was not to say that she was particularly excited about working, either. George avoided her for most of the morning, instead eyeing her warily from a safe distance. Although she knew that she should probably be irritated that her boss was ignoring her because she'd gotten short with him, for some reason this made her smile. George was not a cowardly man, and he never had a problem getting in someone's face, although he rarely raised his voice – he always spoke in the same calm, firm tone. To see his fear at encountering her again was humorous. Of course, he was probably also angry with her and didn't want to speak with her at the moment, but oh well. That was a small price to pay.

She did much better that morning (not a single order wrong) and was actually beginning to feel somewhat cheerful by lunchtime. Not even two elderly men that couldn't seem to decide on what they were ordering really annoyed her much, although they did bore her.

"I'll just take the water," said one of the men after much deliberation.

"Yes," said the other, "and me, as well."

"Okay. I'll be right out with that."

Kitty nodded to them and moved on to wait on a lady and her daughter, who thankfully were much more decisive than the men. However, they were also more easily distracted, and actually got into a conversation over something completely random while she was standing there, feeling awkward about what to do next. She never had been good in these situations. She was just about to clear her throat to get their attention when they seemed to notice her again and placed their order without difficulty.

When she looked up from the mother and daughter her eyes were drawn to a thin figure walking on the sidewalk outside of the patio. Upon closer inspection she realized that it was Nathaniel, and she was about to call out to him when she stopped herself. He knew full well that she was here: if he wanted to talk to her, he would have come and talked to her. No need bothering him right now. He had enough on his plate without her being an clingy irritant.

Shortly thereafter she took her lunch break. She thought briefly of going to a café not far from the coffeehouse that she liked, but she eventually decided to just stop by her flat and eat. It wasn't a long walk, and it was also considerably cheaper, which with her measly salary was a huge plus. The rest of the day was uneventful. Work was dull and she did not hear from Nathaniel, which was actually starting to worry her. But he would have told her if anything significant had happened, she knew, and with that she pushed it from her mind.

However, Kitty did not see Nathaniel the next day, either, which surprised her very much. Surely by now Lovelace would have contacted him, and if he had, Nathaniel would have come and told her. And even if he hadn't been contacted yet, he should at least have told her that. She considered marching over to the bookstore and dragging him out by his ear until he told her exactly what was happening with Lovelace, but she knew he had other things on his mind besides her. If he hadn't come by the next day, though, she would do just that. Perhaps she would even get his boss to take pictures of him howling as he was forcefully pulled from the store by his earlobe, and he could frame them and post them near the entrance to the store. That would teach him not to ignore her.

Hours passed, and soon it was one o'clock the next day. Nathaniel still hadn't contacted her. At noon she started to go over there to chew him out but decided to give him fifteen more minutes; at a quarter past noon she started again but stopped and gave him thirty more minutes; at fifteen until one she decided to give him a quarter of an hour more to come and get her; at one she informed George that she was taking her break and walked right on over to the bookstore.

She didn't even hesitate before bursting into the doors. Several customers looked up, startled. Her eyes flitted back and forth across the room, finally resting on –

"Well, hello there," he said, somewhere between surprised and entertained. "You might want to work on your dramatic entrances. Next time kick open the door. That always seems to work well."

"Hello, Bartimaeus," she replied in a forced civil tone. She stumbled on the name, but her intensity more than made up for the flub. "Is Nathaniel here?"

"Oh, Jonesy, I know Nat'd never cheat on you –"

"Is he here or not?" she pressed, beginning to lose her patience.

"Fine, I was just trying to give you a bit of relationship advice. And no, he's not." Bartimaeus appraised her for some time as if she was a problem he was having some difficulty solving. "And why do you need to see him so bad? I know, I know, it's none of my bloody business."

"It doesn't matter, and it is. Is he –"

"Yeah, he'll be back later," he replied. "He's on break right now."

"Oh." She nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem," he called as she turned and pushed right back out of the store. "Drop by any time, I always love it when you visit!"

She was about to make her way back across the street – she had no idea what she was going to do for lunch, that would be a bother – when she ran straight into someone. It was a woman in a nice business suit talking on her mobile; she gave Kitty a fierce glare before turning and striding swiftly away from her, saying, "Oh, I know, we'll have to fire him, he's no good," to whomever was on the other end of the line. Kitty followed her retreating form with an equally fierce glare, and it was because of this that she noticed the two people to her right standing at the entrance of a cramped alleyway.

One was Nathaniel, and the other she didn't know. However, the crowd of people walking about on the streets would make it none too difficult to approach without being noticed, and soon she had come within earshot. She leaned back behind a ridge in the outside of the store and strained to hear them.

"…must say that I'm none too pleased with your attitude so far," the man was saying. "Someone in your household seems to be avoiding my calls, and on the rare occasion that they do take them, they also seem to have come upon the nasty habit on hanging up on me before I can get out a single word."

"That… is regrettable," Nathaniel replied. She could hear the anxiety in his voice, and he was probably shifting in his stance uncomfortably right now. She didn't have to look to know _that._ "Mr. Underwood never really has liked people he doesn't know calling us. He thinks they're all telemarketers."

"I see. That is very regrettable. It would be even more regrettable if you were lying about that. But I know you wouldn't do such a thing."

There was a pause before Nathaniel finally spoke. "No, I wouldn't."

"Good. I would recommend that you find a way to pick up the phone before dear Mr. Underwood does, or perhaps I will have to have words with him as well. Or perhaps Mrs. Underwood, she does seem so nice –"

"You wouldn't," Nathaniel whispered so quietly that she could barely hear him.

"I wasn't planning on it, I admit, but what Lovelace doesn't know won't hurt him. It could all be avoided, though. Just take the offer. This is your last warning."

Nathaniel did not argue. He seemed to know that it was no use. "Very well. When should I expect you?"

"Tomorrow," said the man in a brighter tone (if it could be called that – his voice remained so even throughout the conversation that it was hard to tell if it had changed at all). "I will give you one day. I trust that you will come to the right conclusion. When you accept the deal tomorrow, I will lay out the terms of the agreement and your compensation. You will not be disappointed."

"Should I expect a call or a visit?"

"A visit. If my calls are ignored again, I might not be able to control my temper, and neither of us wants that."

"You… you're right. Neither of us wants that."

"Good. I'm glad to know that we see eye to eye on this." The man coughed. "I will leave you be, then. Farewell, Nathaniel. I will see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

Kitty waited for a safe amount of time before poking her head around the side of the ridge. The man was gone, and Nathaniel was left alone, a troubled look on his face, although it was hard to tell – he had large bags under his eyes and appeared as if all the blood had drained from his skin. She approached him with conspicuous steps, not wanting to spook him too much, but she succeeded in doing so anyways: he visibly jumped when she touched his shoulder with her fingertips.

"Ah – you startled me," Nathaniel said, relaxing when he saw her.

"Sorry," she murmured.

He reddened just a bit, and she withdrew her hand. "Don't be. I was just – I was just thinking about something."

"I know. I heard."

"Oh – _oh – _you were listening? How did… how much did you hear?"

She shrugged. "Enough. I know you've been shirking his calls and that you're down to your last warning. There might have been something else dreadfully important that I've missed, though." She gave him a look that plainly asked, _Was there?_

He shook his head. "There wasn't. Mainly vague threats before that."

"Well, that's much better," she remarked sarcastically, and for a moment he even looked like he was about to smile. "I hope you know that if you're lying to me you're going to be facing something much scarier than anything Lovelace can cook up for you."

"Yes, yes, I'd nearly forgotten… hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Trust me. I'm not."

"Good." Kitty all of a sudden found her feet very interesting. "Er, not to rush you or anything, but what are you going to do? Are you going to accept their terms or are you going to call the police?"

"I don't know," he replied, and his face sagged, making him look even more tired. "I honestly have no clue."

"Great. You couldn't even come up with an answer to that when you were busy ignoring his calls? You _were_ ignoring his calls, weren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted. "And it's an easy situation. I'd very much like to reveal Lovelace for what he is, but I'd also very much like to not be shot dead. That would be nice."

"Yeah." She glanced back up to him. "The Underwoods…"

"They're my guardians. I live with them."

"Oh." She knew better than to ask any further questions. "And he's threatened them, as well."

"Yes." Nathaniel's face darkened; for the first time since she'd known him, he actually looked threatening, dangerous even. "I'll get that bastard if he goes after her, I swear I will. He'll wish he'd never been born."

Despite the fact that he was a skinny teenage boy with no means to do that, Kitty did not doubt him for a second. Something about the way he spoke seemed genuine, even if it wasn't particularly pleasant. He'd make a good politician. _Good leader,_ she corrected herself. _Politicians aren't leaders._

"We'll worry about that later," she said in a firm voice, but he remained tense. "For now what are you going to about this? I know you've already said that you don't know, but you kind of need to figure it out pretty soon here."

"I know." He looked at her. "What do you recommend?"

Kitty felt very hot all of a sudden, and she could now feel the full intensity of his gaze upon her. "I – I'd say that you should go to the police."

"I thought you'd say that."

It wasn't an accusation or an insult, as it so easily could have been. He wasn't saying to call her naïve or silly. It was just a statement of fact.

"Yes," she said, uncharacteristically nervous. "I think it's the best option."

"Really?" he asked, still keeping his voice friendly, or at least neutral. "And why would you say that?"

"I think… I think it's very doubtful that he has the police in his control. And even if he's got some of them, he hasn't got all of them. I think he was bluffing about that." Her anxiety began to fade, and she felt her usual vigor returning fast and furious. "You have to go to the police about this. He's threatened you, and he's threatened your family. Do you think he'll simply let you be if you promise to stay mum about all of this? This guy, Lovelace, he likes being in control of everything. No matter what happens you're always going to be just a loose end to him. I don't think that he'll be inclined to stay true to his end of the deal after he thinks about things."

To her surprise, a ghost of a smile played across Nathaniel's lips. "I see you're no longer arguing that he was bluffing about killing me."

"No. I don't reckon he was anymore. Not after I saw that man. Who was he, anyways?"

"No clue," he answered. "All I know is that he's a mercenary, and that he has no qualms about taking care of me if I become a problem, so to speak."

"Well. That's pleasant."

"Indeed."

They were silent for a while. Kitty wondered exactly what was going through his head right now. Was he scared? Angry? He didn't look to be either. He was in his element now, evaluating situations and playing the diplomat, and she played well off his own newfound confidence. She felt very certain of their prospects now, for he looked as if he was in complete control.

He looked calm, more than anything, as if he had come to terms with everything. He looked like someone who was going into battle knowing he was about to die, said a voice in her head that she couldn't ignore.

Finally he spoke: "I've decided. I'll talk to the police."

Kitty nodded. "Good. I was hoping that you'd say that. We can go right now –"

"No," he said. "No, I'll do it at the end of the day. There's no need to rush it. He's given me until noon tomorrow. I might as well take my time."

"Why wait? It's not like Lovelace is going to call you in the meantime and go, 'Say, you know what? I really didn't mean what I said earlier. Let's just forget this ever happened. Friends?'" She'd said it with a bit more bite than she had meant to, and he visibly recoiled. She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. "I mean… I just don't see what the point in waiting is. That's not going to make things any better."

"It's not going to hurt things, either."

"How do you know that? Lovelace doesn't want you calling the police, right? Didn't he tell you not to?" Suddenly something occurred to her. "What if – he's probably keeping a watch on you! Of course he is, why didn't we think of that! If you call the police, he'll know, because that mercenary's been following you around! But he's gone now… he's probably waiting for you to go home again. He's not expecting you to call the police from work or anything, and he probably doesn't think you'll decide to call them until later on, anyways. However, if you call them right now, he'll be none the wiser. You won't have to worry about that, at least."

Nathaniel seemed to give this some thought. He stared straight into her eyes, as if probing her for something – honesty, integrity, she didn't know – but he nodded after a long inspection. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right. I should call as soon as possible. But where? I'm not going back into the store, at any rate. I don't fancy explaining that I'm about to be wanted dead by a corrupt businessman-turned-politician to my dear old boss. That might take a while."

"True. You could come back to my flat, though. Oh, stop looking like that, it's perfectly innocent. It's not like we're inviting Bartimaeus along to do a running commentary or anything."

"Fine," he said, although it must have pained him to do so. "We'll go back to your flat. You're on your lunch break, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Right. Then, if you don't mind the rush, we'll go back there immediately. I'm on my break, as well, and I've already spent enough time with you and the mercenary. If we hurry perhaps I'll actually have time to get lunch."

"Good point. Let's go."

There was no need to drag him back to her flat this time, as he was quite nearly walking ahead of her as it was. They did not talk on the short walk back to her flat, and soon they had arrived there, and she unlocked and opened the door for him. He did not wait for an invitation to enter.

"Where –"

"On the counter next to the stove," she replied. She followed him inside and closed the door behind her. He found the phone and hesitated for a moment. "Well?"

"Er… what exactly am I supposed to say?"

She froze. "Honestly? I have no clue."

"Well," he remarked with a brief grin, "this is good. Do you have paper and a pen? Perhaps we should write a rough draft or something?"

"Just get it done." She grinned back. They inspired an odd sort of confidence in each other. She might have gone so far as to call it dangerous. "I want to have time for lunch, as well."

"Okay." He looked at the phone for half a second before picking it up. "Okay. Here goes nothing."

He didn't do anything, though. He just held the phone.

"Waiting…"

"Fine, fine." He dialed in the number, and Kitty could hear it ringing for what seemed like hours. He was just moving to hang up when she heard a voice on the other end of the line, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Well!" Kitty urged him in a hushed voice. "Go on!"

He seemed heartened by this, and he nodded. "My name is Nathaniel. I overheard the businessman Simon Lovelace threatening a lady the other day at Druid's Coffeehouse, and he has now threatened my life as well. I wish to report him."

-


	15. Fifteen

Wow, I actually updated pretty early! What can I say, I was feeling rather inspired. For clarification, this chapter pretty much runs concurrently with Kitty's chapter, but you might want to skim over the ending of Bartimaeus's last chapter to get a better feel for things. Anyway, by about midway through the chapter it should get a little clearer where we are in the story. Sorry if it gets confusing.

Disclaimer: I own nil.

* * *

Fifteen

-

On Wednesday, I was scheduled to have a day off, but Anne called in sick with a nasty head cold. So I, ever punished with such misfortune, was forced to come in when I could have been lazing about at home, doing nothing at all (which is really my favorite thing to do). However, when I entered work that morning, someone looked much worse off than Anne, and I'll give you a clue: his name rhymed with "Bathaniel."

"Don't you look happy," I commented as I unlocked the front doors. Nat shot me a nasty glare which probably would have been more intimidating if his eyes weren't hallowed and a bit sunken in. "Wow. You look even worse than Jenkin does, and that's saying something."

"Hey!"

"Just kidding, Jenkins. You still look worse than Nat here." He silently fumed, and I was very pleased with myself. "Ah, stop throwing a temper tantrum and go get me a coffee. You know how I take it."

He gave me another patented look of utmost loathing before heading behind the desk to get me my coffee, making sure to stamp his feet as loud as he could (which wasn't very loud, seeing as the floor was covered with nice cushy carpeting that I'd managed to get half-price through some unintentional voyeurism and a well-executed bribe).

"But seriously kid," I said, turning to Nat, "you look like a b-list celebrity after a botched botox job." He didn't appear to know what I meant. "Jeez, don't you ever read the tabloids?"

"No, honestly," he snapped. "I've got much better things to do than waste my time with that tripe."

"Hm, someone's testy. Late night? Did Kitty not call you back?"

"Oh why don't you go –"

"Your coffee, master," Jenkins stated dully. I took it, shaking my head. Jenkins had the worst timing. That probably would have been an extremely entertaining and uncharacteristically lewd rant.

"Thank you, servant. If you continue the good work I may just let you have your lunch break today." Jenkins didn't take jokes too well. "Again, kidding. And this time I don't have a clever insult or anything. Honest."

I don't think Jenkins believed me. Oh well. Small loss.

"All right, let's see… er, I'm taking the desk, obviously… er… you know what? I don't care. You guys decide. Rock-paper-scissors. Cage match. Fight to the death or something." I took my seat behind the desk, propped my elbows up on the desk, and rested my head on my hands, appraising them with an expectant gaze. "Well? Go on, then. I want to see some blood!"

Nathaniel looked like he was far too tired to even think about what I'd just said. Jenkins looked like he'd fancy seeing _my_ blood all over the floor.

"I'll go to the back," Nat finally said, to my utter disappointment. Jenkins wasn't near as fun as Nat. While he was just as easy to goad, he was twice as irritating. His mere presence made my blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. "He can have the front."

For a second Jenkins seemed like he was about to argue, but then he must've realized that Nat was actually giving him the front, and so he just stood there, dumb as ever. The kid loped on to the back room, leaving me and Jenkins alone.

"Well? Stop hanging around here! Get to work!"

He shot me another glare before slithering (yes, slithering) away to the romance section. The day's first customers soon arrived, and I honored them with the privilege of my full attention.

Nat came out of the back room while Jenkins was on his lunch break, and he wasn't better for the experience. At first I thought that he might have been sleeping, but I quickly dismissed that theory: he still had the largest bags under his eyes, like he'd been up all night watching horror movies on the telly and had subsequently been unable to get to sleep (not that I've ever done that; I'm a difficult scare).

"You really do look like crap. You know that, right?"

"Gee, thanks, Bartimaeus."

"No problem. I'm always here if you want an honest opinion."

"Mmhm."

He didn't move. In fact, I think he'd quite forgotten why he'd come out in the first place. He wasn't in a good state.

"Really, is there sommat wrong with you?" I finally asked, accidentally breaking into a Sheffield accent. What can I say, old habits die hard. Remind me to tell you about my exploits in that fine city some other time. "I hate to say it, but you look like a vampire, mate. No joke."

"Nothing's wrong," he said, which immediately set off my _I-should-probably-be-a-wee-bit-suspicious-here_ alarms. It sounded like a practiced answer. So maybe _that_ was what he had been doing in the back room. Or… you know what, I'm not going to go into what he could have been doing in there. Kids could be reading this. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired."

"Just a bit? You look like you just ran a one-legged marathon through a mine-riddled battlefield infested with a nasty crocodile population."

I'll admit, I'd had that line ready for a while and had just been waiting for an opportunity to use it. So what? All the best stand-up comics have jokes planned before they go onstage. I'm not weird or anything.

He stared at me blankly. "You're weird."

I can't say that Nat and I always saw eye-to-eye.

"You're not the first person to tell me that, trust me. But you're avoiding the question. You look like –"

"Please, I understand what I look like."

"Fine. Well, you don't look good." I was a bit put out by his attitude. I'd had a really good line at the ready, too. "Now, if you're sick or anything, I'd really appreciate it if you went ahead and told me so I can get the hell out of here while I've got my health. I've got a mortal fear of hospitals, you know, and I really don't feel like having to deal with that fear any time soon."

This was kind of a fib. But just a little one. I didn't have a fear of hospitals, per se. I just have a very strong antipathy towards injuries, wounds… you know, pain in general.

"I'm fine. Trust me."

"Yeah, that's real comforting."

I might have neglected to mention that I have severe trust issues, too. We could go ahead and do a full psychoanalysis of me if you really want to, but we should probably stick to the story. What's that? You agree? I thought you would. We'll do the psychoanalysis later on, I promise.

"Well, I'm not sick," he said shortly. "And that should be good enough for you. I'm not a health risk. Anything else is none of your business, to be frank."

I raised my hands in surrender. I'd learned this particular gesture from a documentary I'd seen about the history of the French army. "All right, all right. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't try or anything, because I did. When you have an emotional breakdown don't come crying to me."

"Good. I wasn't planning on it, really. Now can I get to work?"

"Sure. You know, that might be the first time I've ever heard that in my experience as an employer. What I wouldn't give to hear Ffoukes say that, just once."

I don't think he cared much about my personal thoughts and desires. He didn't even look at me before pretty much sprinting to the back room. Yeah, he was just dandy, all right… and I was emperor of the world. Which I am now, incidentally. (Please don't tell me you believed that. Please.)

There wasn't much to report on for the rest of the day. Nat was moody all day. I was as awesome as I always am. Jenkins was Jenkins. Pretty normal day.

When I yelled back to Nat that it was closing time, he took his sweet time coming out of the back room, and then when we actually did close he ran off before I'd even realized he was gone. Weird kid. I bade Jenkins goodnight (there might've been a slight insult involved, I don't recall) and headed out to get something to eat. I passed by several swanky restaurants that I could neither afford nor dress for appropriately. I eventually settled on a little diner near my flat that made the best, and inexplicably cheapest, steaks.

Dinner was also uneventful. I paid and went on home, feeling very tired and very full. There were some bills to pay and calls to return, but I could get to those later. I didn't even make it to my room – I fell asleep right there on the sofa. Not very fitting for someone as respected and distinguished as myself, but oh well. Luckily my little entourage of paparazzi were away on a very extended vacation.

I got up early, which turned out to be a lucky mistake. As I made myself a cup of coffee, I listened to my messages, several of which I deleted (one from Jenkins complaining about this or that, one from Faquarl boasting about how he'd just piloted a very expensive plane and more or less telling me how worthless I was). One, however, I actually was forced to listen to:

"Bart, it's Anne." She sounded terrible, her voice all nasal and scratchy. She coughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm still sick. As soon as I can get into the store I will, but I can't right now. I'm pretty much being forced to stay in bed at the moment. Again, I'm really sorry." I didn't doubt that she was, but I'd met her husband. He probably had chained her to the bed to keep her from going out. He struck me as that kind of fellow. "Hopefully you'll actually check your messages, unlike last time, but I'll try to call again later."

It was lucky no one was around, as I actually became quite embarrassed at that last comment. If I was lucky nobody would remind me of that unfortunate incident for the rest of my life. Maybe I could bribe Anne to stay quiet about it.

I wasn't happy about going into work when I really shouldn't have to have gone in, but when your life is as full of malaise as mine is, you kind of get used to it. Clicking the button to delete the message, I let out a dramatic sigh and drained the last of my coffee. I did the rest of my necessary morning chores before grabbing my wallet and setting out for the store.

When I got there I found Nat and Jenkins already waiting for me.

"You're late," Jenkins whined.

"And you're ugly. Tell me something I don't know." Hey, I never said I was nice. "Anne was supposed to work today, but she's still sick, and I just got her message. So excuse me if I'm fifteen seconds late."

For those of you that probably are thinking that I'm just about the meanest person ever right now, take this into account: 1) I was going into work when I hadn't been expecting to, so I was in a bad mood; 2) Jenkins was working for the second day in a row, so I was in a really bad mood; and 3) Jenkins was just that annoying. Trust me. Maybe I haven't done a good enough job with his characterization or whatever to show that. I could document all of the instances of Jenkins's annoyingness from here on out, but that would just put me in a bad mood _now_, so I won't. But don't worry. There'll be more about dear old Jenkins later.

"Oh Nat, I'm so glad you're working today," I stated as I unlocked the door. I don't think I need to tell you that I was being a bit sarcastic. "You're the little ray of sunshine that brightens my day!"

Nathaniel didn't look like he was planning on brightening anyone's day, thank you very much. He grunted, possibly swore under his breath, and pushed past me and into the store. Despite his rudeness, I couldn't help but feel slightly misty-eyed. It seemed Natty boy was going through his teenage rebellious stage. Before you knew it he'd have a pierced nose, pink hair, a venereal disease, and two kids with another one the way. It was enough to make the toughest of tough guys shed a tear.

That day was another dull one. Nat holed himself up in the back room once more, and I don't think he said a word to me all day. Even Jenkins avoided me, although a small part of me thinks that had more to do with my comments earlier that morning than teenage rebellion.

However, that day would prove to be the quietest one I'd have in quite a while. Looking back, I might have done a few things differently if I'd known what lay ahead for me. Maybe I would've seen a movie. Maybe I would've gone and bought a few records at the vintage music store a block away from my flat. Maybe I would've bought a ticket for an aeroplane to Dubai and gone on a nice vacation, checked out that big skiing dome they've got there or whatnot. I don't know. It's hard to say now.

I woke up that morning in a cramped position between what seemed to be two walls, my comforter wrapped around the back of my knee. Once I'd actually cleared my head, I realized what was going on: I'd fallen off the bed and was now squeezed between the edge of the bed and the wall. Cursing in four different languages (two of which I'm fluent in), I extracted myself from this rather uncomfortable situation. My back hurt something awful, and I hobbled humpbacked into out of my room and into the kitchen, where I began to fix myself a slice of French toast.

You may be wondering right now exactly how I remember all of this. Let me just tell you this: I remember every little detail of this day and the several following it. I could do a nice little sketch of each scene for you if you wished, although my talents in the arts are admittedly limited. You may not know this, but when you have life-or-death situations you generally tend to remember every second of them, especially when they're stretched over several days and they end in death for someone not as fortunate as yourself. I dunno, maybe you're a soldier or mercenary or something and you're just sitting there going, "Pmmph! What a baby! I deal with that crap every day!" To that I just say good for you, sir (or madam), but if you'll excuse my saying I myself have been in numerous such situations, yet I still think they're kind of a big deal. But that may just be me.

Anne called during breakfast, sounding a tad better but still coughing. She told me that she would try to come in while I tried to convince her not to, but somehow her husband ended up on the phone, telling me in an accusatory voice that his wife was staying in bed and she wouldn't be pestered by _anyone_ to come into the store. It took several minutes to sort out that little mess, but by the end, I think her husband didn't hate me too much. .

I came in that morning in a better mood than I had the day before, although that wasn't to say I was skipping down the street and singing out the title song from a hit musical with my fellow pedestrians or anything. Just wanted to clear that up. For future purposes, know this: I don't sing. Ever. (Except for that one time way back when with Faquarl and the guy from the orange stand. But that's an entirely different story.)

Nat and Eva were waiting for me when I arrived at the store.

"Ah, good," I said, clapping my hands together happily. "I was getting tired of Jenkins."

"I'm only here for half a shift," Eva stated as I went to unlock the door. "Ffoukes is supposed to come in at three."

"Mmhm. No break, right?"

"Yeah."

I opened the doors and beckoned for them to come inside. Nat still didn't look too hot, but you probably could've guessed that. On the bright side, he didn't look like he wanted to murder me and make a decorative anklet out of my entrails anymore. Just tired. Resigned, even.

"I'll take the –"

"Back," I finished for him. Very kind of me – the strain of that last word might have been all it took to finish him off once and for all. I'm being quite serious when I say that, folks. "Yeah, I know. And Eva will take the front while I take the desk. I know the drill."

And we did just that. It was an interesting morning. First off, Eva made much better conversation than Nat or Jenkins, although she really wasn't particularly talkative, either. But it's not like her competition was that tough, to be perfectly honest. Secondly, I couldn't help but notice the bearded man I'd talked to several days before was hanging around outside the store – the one who had asked about Nat. He was doing his best to look inconspicuous, but when you've got hands they size of frying pans and look like you could kill a person just by sneezing in their general direction, it's hard to blend into the crowd. And last, but not least, I was nearing my lowest time in Solitaire on the computer. What can I say: the computerized cards were in my favor that day.

At half past twelve Nat came out of his recluse in the back room.

"I've gotten a fair amount done," he said.

I didn't look up from my game. "Very good."

"I'm taking my lunch break now."

"You do that."

"I'll be back in an hour."

"Joy."

I glanced up for a second, only to see that he had noticed our bearded friend outside. I swear he got so pale right then that I thought he was about to turn transparent. He seemed to have quite forgotten about his lunch break, which might have actually been a good thing because at that moment I think he would have had trouble keeping his lunch down.

"Well," he finally stated, "I'll be going now. Later, then."

He said it as if it would be the last time he'd ever see me. If I was standing next to him he just might have given me a teary-eyed hug. (Obviously joking there.) With his usual air of melodrama he gulped and pushed on and outside of the store.

It was an interesting sight. It seemed to me that he was trying to avoid catching the bearded man's attention, and for a second it looked like he would be successful. It was to no avail, though. Mr. Big Hands caught up to him in no time and soon was pulling him away for what I'm sure would be a nice chat. If I didn't know Nat, I would have said that he'd gotten into some serious trouble with the Mafia or something of the sort. However, I knew Nat and also knew that he was far tamer. If anything the bearded man was probably a charity worker who was collecting money Nat had pledged for this or that cause or foundation. Nevertheless, Nat had the look of someone going to meet the Devil himself. (Although now that you mention it, it _would _explain the impressiveness of the man's demeanor. I think I've already aptly described that for you with the murderous-sneeze-thing and whatnot.)

I hummed a slow funeral march to myself as I watched them go off behind a ledge and out of sight. Poor Nat. So young, too.

"What are you doing?"

I'd forgotten that Eva was still in the room. "Meh?"

"You were humming just then," she said with a suspicious look on her face. "Something dark, too. Mournful, even."

"Oh." Drat. How was I supposed to explain _that_ whole thing to her? It took me an entire paragraph just to explain it to you! "It was the computer."

"The computer?"

"Yeah," I replied, shockingly straight-faced. "I was playing a bit of music on it. You know. That I downloaded."

"You downloaded a funeral march?"

"Yes." Suddenly a burst of inspiration hit me. "It's Radiohead."

"Oh," she said, nodding. "That explains everything. I was wondering."

I grinned to myself, just a little bit. I love it when I prove that I'm a genius. "Yeah. Weird band."

She seemed placated by this answer, and she walked off to do whatever it was that she had been doing (hopefully her job, but I'm not so optimistic – blame Ffoukes for that). You may be somewhat confused right now if you're not familiar with Radiohead, and I don't blame you. It would take too long to fully explain this to you, but just know this for future reference: if anyone ever catches you listening to really weird music, say it's Radiohead. Or the Beatles during one of their more drug-addled periods. The two are interchangeable, really.

For several minutes it looked like I'd had all the excitement I was going to have during that particular hour, but this turned out to be one of the few instances when I've been proven wrong.

Just past one the doors burst open with all the necessary dramatic flair. I'll admit that I was a bit startled – I might have even jumped out of my seat just a little bit – but I quickly settled down and looked to the entrance. I was surprised at whom I saw, and I'm one of those guys that truly expect everything, too.

I put on my best amused-yet-not-quite-shocked smile. "Well, hello there. You might want to work on your dramatic entrances. Next time kick open the door. That always seems to work well."

"Hello, Bartimaeus," said Kitty Jones. I could tell she was straining to keep her voice down. "Is Nathaniel here?"

"Oh, Jonesy, I know Nat'd never cheat on you –"

Surprisingly, she didn't take too well to that little comment. She stamped her foot on the ground and set her jaw, as if trying not to scream. Her temples were throbbing something awful, too. "Is he here or not?"

"Fine, I was just trying to give you a bit of relationship advice," I said, rolling my eyes. "And he's not." She was a tricky one, this Kitty Jones. I began to get the feeling that she would give me, the Intuition Guru (as my friends like to call me), a spot of trouble. Sure, I could joke about her and Nat all I wanted, but I'm not stupid. I knew there was something else going on there. I just couldn't tell what. "And why do you need to see him so bad? I know, I know, it's none of my bloody business."

"It doesn't matter, and it is." I'll allow you a second to reread the last two paragraphs so you can understand that statement. It's confusing, I know. "Is he –"

"Yeah, he'll be back later. He's on break right now."

"Oh." She was almost flushed with embarrassment now that she wasn't harassing me about Nat's whereabouts and all. Perhaps she'd realized that I probably didn't have too many people burst in the front doors of my store and proceed to interrogate me with enough controlled ferocity to make even the most clichéd crime procedural tough cop proud. She blushed and rather meekly said, "Thanks."

Of course, such humility didn't mean that she had any problems about just turning around and zipping right back out of the store.

"No problem. Drop by any time, I always love it when you visit!"

I'm not sure if she heard me – the door was already closing by the end of my little farewell. I shook my head and twisted my chair back to face my computer. Kids. Always in such a hurry. They never seemed to slow down and enjoy the finer things in life, like music or beer or drugs or sex. (Okay, bad examples. But I'm not very romantic. Those are the finer things in life to me, in any case.)

Interestingly enough, it seemed that Kitty was going in the same direction that Nat and Mr. Big Hands had gone. It looked like she saw something, or someone (three guesses who). She visibly slowed down, almost to a crawl. She stood there staring for a few seconds before she started creeping forward and disappeared behind the ledge. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and I'll confess that I was a little disappointed: I'd wanted to see what was going to happen. I'm sure it would have been extremely entertaining. However, I wasn't interested enough to actually get out of my chair and follow after her. That would have taken actual effort.

Nat didn't return until the very end of his break. He might have actually gone over by a few minutes, but I wasn't really paying attention. That happens a lot. Anyways, he didn't look too great. He looked depressed, actually.

"Aw, Nat, what's the matter?" I called out to him as he loped on into the store. "Kitty shoot you down?"

I may have been joking, but he did look like he'd just been shot down. Which is not to be confused with getting dumped – they're far, far different things that provoke very different reactions. Trust me on this one. I could write an entire book on this subject. (Wait… that doesn't speak too well of me.)

"Funny." He didn't seem too amused, though. "Nothing's the matter. I'm just tired. Upset stomach."

Coincidentally, I'm actually very familiar with upset stomachs as well, and I could tell that he didn't have one. If he had one he'd have been squirming around a little bit and looking genuinely pained and uncomfortable. Right then he just looked dejected, humiliated, and perhaps a little irritated.

"Right," I said slowly. "Upset stomach. Uh huh."

"Fettuccine alfredo always disagrees with me, it was stupid of me to order it. I'll just go on to the back room. I'm fine, I'm sure I'll feel better in a few minutes."

"Mm, well the toilet's right back there in case you start feeling worse!" I offered in a helpful voice.

His eyes narrowed. He knew I was onto him – it didn't take a genius to figure that out – but the fact that I was pursuing the subject must have worried him somewhat. He needn't have fretted, though. I'm rather lazy and am not taken to sudden bursts of energy and fits of curiosity. I'd already spent too much effort already on this. I didn't really feel like taking it any further.

"Thanks, I'll remember that," he said. Giving me one last suspicious once-over, he turned and walked off to the back room. I sat back in my chair and returned to my game on the computer. Like I said, I wasn't that interested. I'd rather sit back and relax then go and investigate every little thing that pops up.

An hour later Eva left, and about forty-five minutes later Ffoukes finally showed up. I was impressed that he'd arrived within an hour of the time he was supposed to be there. The remainder of the day was unexciting. Nat didn't show his face until closing time. Neither did Ffoukes, although I think that's because he was probably sleeping behind one of the shelves in the fantasy section. He likes to use the fifth Harry Potter book as a pillow. Nat didn't look much better than he had earlier when he came out to help clean up at around nine. If he really did have an upset stomach, it must have been one of the most terrible, long-lasting stomachaches I'd ever heard of. Ffoukes staggered up to the front, groggy-eyed and tousle-haired, looking for all of the world like he'd just had a good nap (as I'd expected). I really don't know why I still paid him any more. I don't think he would've noticed if I just withheld his paycheck. I really don't.

The two zombies muttered their goodbyes and left to go do whatever it is they did after they left the store at night. I went straight home. I thought about stopping and getting something to eat, but I decided against it. I'd fixed myself something to eat at the store (we had a microwave behind the front desk), and while it wasn't much, I could always just have a bowl of cereal along with a couple of biscuits and a glass of milk when I got back home.

I reached my flat and unlocked the front door. It appeared that I'd left the telly on, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence, to tell the truth. On the bright side, turning on the TV was now one less thing I had to waste effort on. I was just in the middle of getting out the milk when there was a knock on the door. At first I thought it was from the TV show – who would be calling at such an hour? So I opened the milk and started to pour it into the bowl, but there was much louder knocking now, and I actually spilled some of the milk onto the counter. Swearing, I got a paper towel and called out, "I'll be there in a second!"

I could hear voices as I cleaned up my spill. They sounded rushed, hurried, all that action-movie type stuff. I finished cleaning it in good time, but before I could move towards the door a loud voice sounded out from the other side of the wall:

"Sir, this is the London city police! We have a warrant – open up now or we will have to use force!"

The soggy towel dropped out of my hand and onto the floor. I really doubt that I noticed.

-


	16. Sixteen

Okie dokie, another update that's actually on time. If I keep this up we'll run out of chapters pretty soon. Maybe I should just wait several months between chapters to really draw it out. (Kidding.) I noticed after I finished editing this that it's a really long chapter, but I didn't think it necessary - or reasonable - to split it up so I'm just going to post it as is.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Bartimaeus Trilogy.

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Sixteen

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Nathaniel waited for a response on the other end of the line. Kitty was looking at him unabashedly, her face a mixture of emotions that he couldn't read, and with some embarrassment he noticed that he had started to sweat.

The woman on the other end spoke. "I'm sorry, sir. I must have misheard you. I thought you mentioned Simon Lovelace. That he was going to murder you."

"Yes, you heard right," Nathaniel replied. "My name is Nathaniel –"

"Please hold, sir, my supervisor wishes to talk to me."

He stared at the phone in confusion. He'd never heard of someone making an emergency call only to have the people on the other end rebuff them when they were about to give their name and particulars. If he had been in any more immediate danger, it might have been somewhat inconvenient. _What's that you say? You're hiding in the closet from a man with a shotgun who's stomping through your house? Can you just hang on half a jiff? I'm really thirsty, I want to go get a glass of water. Don't die while I'm gone!_

"What is it?" Kitty's voice wavered.

"They've put me on hold. They want to talk to their supervisor."

"What a load of –"

There was a voice on the other end, a man's this time, and Nathaniel put the phone back to his ear and did not hear Kitty finish her thought. "Excuse me, sir. This is Henry Duvall, the Police Chief. My worker here tells me that you're accusing Simon Lovelace of conspiracy to murder."

"Yes, yes, I've explained this all before. Lovelace and this lady were –"

"Sir, you do understand that this is a serious charge, don't you?" Duvall sounded skeptical, mocking even. "This isn't to be taken lightly."

"I know that!" Nathaniel exclaimed, his impatience getting the best of him. "Now, listen, this man has threatened me and threatened this woman, and you need to do something about it!"

There was a pause. He thought he heard Duvall cough. "Very well. We will look into that immediately. Thank you for your time and assistance."

And like that he hung up. Nathaniel stood, mouth wide open, resisting the urge to throw the phone into the opposite wall. Kitty just stared at him.

"What?" she demanded.

He set down the phone on the counter. "They hung up on me."

"_What?_ What'd they say?"

"That they'd look into it," he said. "Load of good that did."

"Wait – are you blaming _me_ for this? I couldn't have known this would happen! They're the police! They're supposed to help us!"

"I told you, Lovelace has the police on his side!" He was nearly shouting now, and he didn't know why. He knew that he shouldn't take this out on her – she didn't deserve it – but he felt so angry, betrayed, even. He wanted to punch something or someone (perhaps Bartimaeus, or Jenkins, or just a random person he saw on the street). "I told you! I knew it, too! Now… now he'll know! They'll tell him, I know they will!"

"Oh, stop being melodramatic!" she snapped. "You brought up a charge against a very famous businessman. Maybe they think it was a prank. I dunno. They're not doing their jobs very well, but I don't think that they're corrupt. It's just too –"

"Unbelievable? I'll tell you what's unbelievable: that my life could potentially be at stake because I was convinced to go tattle to the cops."

"Go tattle? Don't you mean 'do the right thing?'"

"Yes, yes, there's the idealistic little girl, I was wondering when that would pop up again…"

"Ha, I knew it! You're a coward!"

"I am not a coward!"

"Yes you are, you're a prissy little coward!"

"I'm not prissy, either!"

"Oh please, I've seen how you fix your hair and check your nails every five seconds. I think I've got some nail polish somewhere around here, d'you want me to get it out for you?"

"You know what, I don't have to deal with this." Huffing angrily, he turned and stomped towards the door. He shot her one last nasty look before saying in a low voice, "I'll see you later."

With that he threw the door open and walked on out. He heard her call out to him as he walked down the walkway: "Oh, goody! Maybe we can braid each other's hair then! I'm _so_ looking forward to it!"

He didn't look back, quite content to settle for kicking the curb when he'd left the complex. This really wasn't good at all. Not only did the police not believe him, they were possibly corrupt, and he had just had a row with the only person that did believe him. He felt sick to his stomach.

He didn't know what he'd do next. Perhaps he'd go get lunch. Yes, that would probably be best, he decided. He still had fifteen minutes left – if he hurried he could at least get a sandwich. That would be good. It would take his mind off things, at least. Trying to take his mind off things – God, did he seem to be doing more and more as time went on.

He went to the sandwich place in between Kitty's flat and the store, and luckily there was no line. He had to eat quickly, although really he didn't think Bartimaeus would notice if he was five minutes late coming back from his lunch break. Nevertheless, he finished as fast as he could and started the walk back to the store, not feeling any better than he had before lunch.

Bartimaeus was ready to greet him when he returned.

"Aw, Nat, what's the matter? Kitty shoot you down?"

He never enjoyed Bartimaeus's hijinks, and this was no exception, especially considering his current mood. "Funny," he said, flatly. "Nothing's the matter. I'm just tired. Upset stomach."

"Right," Bartimaeus replied. Nathaniel could tell that he didn't believe him, but that was no shock. "Upset stomach. Uh huh."

"Fettuccine alfredo always disagrees with me, it was stupid of me to order it. I'll just go on to the back room. I'm fine, I'm sure I'll feel better in a few minutes."

Bartimaeus seemed to lighten up for a moment. "Mm, well the toilet's right back there in case you start feeling worse!"

"Thanks, I'll remember that." Nathaniel gave his boss a long, hard look – his pursuit of the subject was uncharacteristic of him. He was taken to simple taunts, not actual questioning. However, what Bartimaeus thought was immaterial. It's not like he could really do anything about it. He had no grounds for firing Nathaniel or taking any disciplinary action on him, especially when Ffoukes and Jenkins were on staff. His opinion just didn't matter in the scheme of things.

He thought that Bartimaeus was going to say something to him, but he didn't. Nathaniel wasted no time in turning and heading towards the back room. While Bartimaeus had seemingly decided to stop his interrogation, Nathaniel didn't want to give him any time to change his mind.

He put all of his energy into his work into the back room. They'd just gotten in several boxes full of books that morning that needed categorizing, and this helped take his mind off of his recent frustration to some degree. Time seemed to pass too quickly, however, and much sooner than he had expected it was time to clean the store and close shop. His mood had already begun to worsen by closing time, and as he was sitting on the bus heading back home, he was perhaps in the worst spirits that he had been all day.

When he got home he heard the television on in the kitchen and assumed that at least one of the Underwoods must be in the room, but he did not feel up to having company, so he trudged up the stairs and into his room instead. To his surprise, it looked disheveled – the sheets were thrown aside on his bed, and numerous papers and binders lay strewn across his desk. Many of his books were taken from their shelves, and with a glance into his closet he could tell that someone had gone through his clothes.

He moved forward, only to step and nearly trip on a small object on the floor. Looking down curiously, he noticed that it seemed to be a gold locket, although he'd never owned such a thing and didn't believe he'd ever seen this one around the house. He stooped down to pick it up and was just about to open it when he heard Mrs. Underwood's voice through the doorway.

"Nathaniel? Is that you?" She seemed to be in her bedroom. "Did you just get home?"

"Yes, it's me, Mrs. Underwood," he called back, absent-mindedly placing the locket in the pocket of his jeans. "Has anyone been through my room recently?"

"I haven't, and I don't think Arthur has. I noticed it looked a little messy. I just thought that was you."

Nathaniel, who was tidy to the point of obsession, held back the insane urge to laugh. "No, I've kept it pretty clean."

"That's odd," she replied. He thought he heard her turn on a blow-dryer for several seconds before turning it off again. "I think I left the TV on downstairs. Would you mind turning it off for me if you're going down there?"

"Sure," said Nathaniel, deciding that he should probably get something to eat anyways. Still thinking of the chaos that was his room and unable to come up with a reason for the state of it, he headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he could hear the news faintly playing in the background. He wasn't paying attention and didn't notice the subject of the news until he was about to turn it off. It was then that he saw the image on the screen and realized what the newscasters were talking about.

"Sad news today out of central London: Julia Harknett, a mid-level worker in the Department for Business, Enterprise, and Regulatory Reform was found dead in her flat by police today." Nathaniel felt a chill come over him; he had a sudden suspicion that he knew just who had been through his room. "The police have stated that they do believe it was a homicide. No confirmed reports yet, but they have named one person of interest: the adoptive child of one government official, Arthur Underwood…"

Nathaniel didn't have to wait to hear his name. Of course. It all made perfect sense. He'd gone to the police, and Lovelace had one-upped him. Now it was clear: Lovelace was willing to go to any lengths to keep the information of his affair quiet. He knew it was too late to go back now and take Lovelace's offer, although he wanted nothing more as he watched the coverage of Harknett's murder on the news. To hell with nobleness and morals and such. This was his life on the line.

But it was too late now. Lovelace had taken a personal interest in him, and he doubted that the businessman would settle with framing him for murder. No, Nathaniel could still talk if he was in jail. This was merely a way to discredit him, to trap him until Lovelace could come to claim his prey. Lovelace was doing his best to isolate and demoralize Nathaniel, and the man was doing a damn good job of it.

It was then that Nathaniel heard a soft sound in the background. At first he thought it was coming from the television, but as it gradually grew louder and louder, he realized that it wasn't from inside the house. He swore under his breath. Sirens. The police were already on their way. Somehow he didn't think he'd get his rights read to him, either.

He thought to get some clothes out of his room and perhaps put them in a bag, but he realized the sirens were much closer than he thought – he could even hear the cars coming up the street. He glanced around the kitchen with frantic focus, grabbing Mr. Underwood'd wallet off of the counter and stuffing it in his back pocket. He hurried to the back door and exited out of it as quietly as he could. He could hear the officers running up to the door and yelling loudly.

He had not turned on any lights and thus was forced to stumble around the garden, hands outstretched and feeling for any edge or tree to guide his way. At one point he thought he heard someone up near the gate between the front of the house and the garden, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Sure enough, he could hear vague whispers. They were trying to cut him off.

Unfortunately, he could also see that they had electric torches from the light against the walls of the house. He could not hide, knowing that they would eventually find him anyway. He was forced to creep as lightly as he could towards the neighboring fence in the hopes of hopping over it. They were still struggling with the gate; Nathaniel grabbed the top of the fence and began heaving himself over it. He slipped, and his knee knocked over a pot Mr. Underwood had left in the garden a few days before. He groaned as he heard the policemen's excited whispers: "Did you hear that? He must be out there! Hurry up!"

Nathaniel gave one great push and propelled himself to the top of the fence. He swung his legs over and dropped down to the other side. He was making his way across the neighbors' garden when he heard the gate bang against the fence. The police were not more than twenty metres from him.

He soon noticed that the proximity of the police was not his only problem: the lights inside the neighbors' house were on, and he could see the elderly lady in her chair in the sitting room, talking to someone out of sight (probably her cranky old husband). He stole across the garden with as much speed and quietness as he could. There was a cooling unit next to the house that made a great deal of noise, somewhat hiding his footsteps from the police, and the lady did not look away from whomever was on the other side of the room. Nathaniel hopped the next fence and repeated the process until he was facing the road intersecting the street that the Underwoods' house faced, the police cars' sirens barely audible in the background.

He did not stop, however, until he was several more streets down. Finally unable to hear the sirens, he ducked into an alley to take a rest and gather his thoughts.

Now that he was a safe distance away he realized that he had no further plans on where he might go. The idea had never occurred to him; he'd been far too busy with just avoiding the police. He did not have any close friends from school. He had not been unpopular, but he had not grown close to anyone, either. There was Ms. Lutyens, of course, but the fact that she was his favorite teacher hardly qualified her to hide a suspect in a homicide. He did not know much of the Underwoods' family, and he himself had none to speak of. And the idea of asking Bartimaeus for help was just laughable.

After exhausting every other possible option in his mind, he grimly came to the conclusion that there was only one person that could help him, although she was a tad angry with him at the moment. He dryly wondered to himself if he should buy a bouquet for her. _Here, take this. Now can I hide here from the police and possibly endanger your life?_

He knew there was no time to waste – he imagined getting to her flat only to find her asleep and then having to wait outside until morning for her to wake up. While he was sure he could find some way to wake her, he still didn't want to deal with that. Imagine if he was called up by one of her neighbors for making a racket!

Now he had to decide how to get there. For some reason he felt that taking the bus was unwise. While anyone else on the bus probably wouldn't know of his status with the police, it still didn't feel right. No, he'd walk. He'd have to be careful, but it seemed like the safer option.

And so he walked. It was a much longer journey than it would have normally been, as he would hide behind trash cans or dart into alleyways when he heard a car coming up behind him, which happened quite often. Numerous trash cans later, he found himself at her flat complex. Summoning up the last of his courage (and swallowing the last of his pride), he walked forward, only to find that he had no means of getting inside the gate: it had always been open during the day. He groaned, took a look each way, and climbed it as rapidly as he could, banging his knee again in the process. On the whole he didn't exactly feel inconspicuous, but he also doubted anyone would be looking for him here. After all, outside of Bartimaeus, he didn't think anyone else knew of Kitty's involvement in the whole ordeal.

He approached her door with caution. Her neighbors' windows were dark, but hers weren't. Well, that was good, at least. He bit his lip before raising up his hand and knocking on her door.

At first there was no answer. He knocked again, and this time thought he heard a muffled "What the hell?" from the other side of the door. There were the sounds of things being knocked over, and possibly several swear words, and then he heard her against the door. He knew she was looking out of the peephole; there was a long pause before the door finally opened. For several moments they just stared at each other.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, her voice venomous.

"I got bored. Thought I might stop by."

He didn't know why he said it, or why he suddenly had a sense of humor. Perhaps Bartimaeus was rubbing off on him.

"Oh really?" she asked in the same tone.

"Yes." Nathaniel's previous seriousness returned. "Listen, this is hard to explain… oh hell, just turn on the news."

"Why –"

"Just do it."

She regarded him for a moment before nodding and heading for the television. He stood in the doorway, unsure if he should come in or stay outside. "What channel?"

"Four. May I –"

"Yes. Is this what you were referring to?"

She pointed the remote to the screen, where a football highlight was playing.

"No, just wait a few moments. They're sure to have it on soon."

"Mmhm."

Neither of them spoke as the final score played on the screen. The image changed to the same one Nathaniel had seen earlier on in the night, and he watched her reaction to the news coverage. At first her face was stony; then it was intrigued; and finally it was shocked.

"Hold on," she breathed, wagging the remote at the television, "that – that's not – you're –"

"Didn't I tell you he had the police on his side?" Nathaniel replied.

"But if she's dead then what about you?"

Apparently his expression answered her question.

"You think he wants to kill you, too?" she asked, voice high. "Now that doesn't make sense. I mean, he's already got you framed for murder, I don't really think it's necessary."

"Yes, because that's a much better alternative," he remarked, dry humor inherent in his tone. "I think he's just using this to get to me. He's just waiting for an opportunity to strike."

"Well, that's depressing. But how could they believe you did it? Where's the evidence?"

"I came home to find my room had been rummaged through. I assume he sent one of his lackeys to find something they could plant at the scene. Not all of the cops can be corrupt. He had to find a way to convince the good cops."

"Right. Well, now we need to think about what we're to do next."

"I notice that you're not denying his intentions anymore."

"And I notice that you're not blaming me for ruining you anymore," she retorted. "What caused the change?"

He shrugged. "I like to think that I would have done it even without you there to annoy me. And I'm not really in any position to hold a grudge against you right now. I kind of need your help."

"True," she agreed. "Hm. Let's see. I assume we should probably just focus on keeping you from the police for now. It's going to be hard enough to just do that. I don't know how we'd go about proving your innocence or whatnot, but let's just focus on that to start off."

Her clear-mindedness caught him off-guard, and he was sure that if he didn't say something now then he probably wouldn't get a chance before he was swept away by her energy. "Kitty."

She didn't seem to notice him. "Mm?"

"Thanks."

"For what? You were right, I got you into this."

"You didn't –"

"I think we should first decide where you stay, don't you?" she interrupted, and he understood that he should drop the subject. "That seems like a big priority."

"Yeah."

"Now this flat's too cramped for two, and I'd really rather not have to worry about getting taken in myself if they find us, to be honest." An idea seemed to have struck her. "Oh, I know! My neighbor's out of town, and he's given me the key to his flat. You could stay there. He's a right old slob, I don't think he'd notice if a few things were out of place."

Nathaniel was uncomfortable with the thought of staying in the flat of someone he didn't even know, but he had no better ideas to offer, so he nodded his approval. "That would be fine."

"Okay. Let's go ahead and go over there right now, I don't want my landlord accidentally catching us in here." Nathaniel couldn't help but think that Bartimaeus would be rolling on the floor laughing if he'd heard that last comment. Pervert. "And I dunno about you, but I'm starved. He probably has better food than I do, at any rate, even if he's out of town. Just let me go get the key."

Kitty went off to her bedroom, reemerging after a minute with said key. She gestured to the door. "Go on, then."

He exited the flat, holding the door open for her. She strode over to the neighboring door and unlocked it, and he followed her inside. He soon found her description of her neighbor as a "right old slob" to be an understatement. Books and papers covered every surface of every table or counter – even the top of the stereo and the television.

"What does your neighbor do for a living?" he asked in disbelief as he surveyed the chaos around him.

"No clue. I think he was a teacher once. He told me that he occasionally writes essays for books and magazines and whatnot. He… likes reading."

"Oh? I couldn't tell."

"Haha. Anyways… I guess you could just take his bed, I dunno. Maybe you'll want to sleep on the sofa." She looked to his clothes and made a disapproving noise. "And I don't know what you'll do about clothes. Mr. Button's about the same size as you, I think, maybe a little rounder, but that's what belts are for…"

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "What now, though?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know how we're supposed to go about proving your innocence. Maybe Lovelace will have a mental breakdown and admit the truth on national television, but I'm not getting my hopes up." She rubbed her temples wearily. "For now let's just try not to get you arrested. Perhaps… perhaps we should see if we can get you out of the country. I don't know. Only until we could prove everything with Lovelace, of course."

Nathaniel was about to say something in reply when he felt a tug in his stomach. "Ah… didn't you mention something about food? I haven't had anything to eat since lunch."

"Oh. Right. Well, lemme see." She walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged through it for a while. "Eggs that are about to go past the due date, cheese, salami, a half-eaten sandwich, milk that's going to spoil by the time he gets back, some fruit – I think we'll go with the eggs. Might as well throw in the cheese and meat, too, I don't think he'll notice."

"Can I –"

"Yeah, get some bread and make some toast. Can't remember if I saw any butter in there, though. Oh well."

They spent the next five minutes making their makeshift dinner. Occasionally they said something to each other, but for the most part they were quiet. They had sat down to eat (Nathaniel had to push aside a very old-looking book called A Modern Critic's Dictionary to make room for his plate) when Kitty spoke.

"Do you know anyone else who could help us?" she asked, chewing on her eggs thoughtfully. "A teacher? A friend?"

"No, just you," he replied.

"Hm."

He eyed her over the table. "All right. What is it?"

"What's what?" she said, straight-faced.

"That. 'Hm.'"

"I wasn't aware that 'Hm' meant anything at all."

"You know what I mean. And I know what you're doing," he pressed, doing his best to keep his tone from being too accusatory. "You're thinking about something."

"Oh yes, God forbid that I should do that."

"You're thinking about something but don't want to say it because you think I won't like it." He set down his fork. "Come on. Tell me what it is. Spit it."

"I'm eating. You really don't want me to spit it."

"Oh, _come on…_"

"Fine, fine." Kitty swallowed her food and looked away from him, squinting at something. "I was just thinking that maybe there's somebody we could go to."

Immediately he perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said, obviously encouraged by his response. "Someone who's intelligent, who might know of a way to help us. Someone who'll believe us, even if it's for his own reasons that we don't completely understand. Now, granted, I don't know him very well, but it's worth a try –"

"Kitty. No."

She appeared somewhat hurt by this statement, but he was understandably disappointed. He'd really been expecting someone that he hadn't thought of and dismissed already. Especially not _him_.

"But maybe…"

"No. Bartimaeus can't, and won't, help us. You don't know him like I do." He sighed and poked at his eggs. "Be thankful for that."

"I think you're not giving him enough credit," she huffed.

"I think you're giving him too much," he responded. "And even if he wanted to help me – which he won't – how would he? Unless he has a lot more influence in politics than he's alluded to so far, I really doubt he could help me."

"But if we told him you don't think that he'd tell the police, do you? He seems like he doesn't like authority much."

"I don't know if knowingly concealing someone wanted for murder is his idea of rebelling against authority." He shrugged. "But I don't know. He's always boasting about how good he is at reading people. Maybe he'd believe that I didn't do it. I don't understand Bartimaeus, no one does. But I do know that he wouldn't help us. He's nearly certifiable. He's not really driven by morals or anything."

He thought to add, _He's not like you_, but he didn't.

"Yeah, I guess you know him better than I do." Even though she had dropped the subject, though, he couldn't help but think that she was still going over it in her mind. "There's my parents, I guess, but they'd probably turn you in and scold me for helping you. They're very… patriotic."

Kitty did not elaborate on her relationship with her parents, and he sensed that there was more to it than that, but he did not ask her. There was a loud noise; he nearly jumped up from his seat on the floor.

"What was that?" he asked, nervous eyes flitting about the room.

"Don't worry, I think it was just the freezer. Mine does that all the time."

Even so, Nathaniel remained on edge for a long while. He was suddenly aware of just how vulnerable he was. What if one of the neighbors noticed there was noise coming from the flat of someone who was supposedly out of town? What if they investigated? The relative calm that had come over him since he talked to Kitty was rapidly disappearing.

They finished their dinner and cleaned up their plates. Kitty made several more attempts at conversation but he was not in the mood for it and he made this clear by his detached attitude. Finally she gave up.

"Fine, I'll leave you alone. Just lock the door and whatever, try not to make too much noise." She looked around the flat. "And try to put things back where they were. I dunno, it'd really be a bother if Mr. Button turned out to be one of those people with photographic memory and had memorized the location of everything in here. Oh, stop looking so anxious, I'm quite positive that he's not one of those types, otherwise he wouldn't need these books – he'd just memorize them all. Anything else?"

"I don't think so," Nathaniel replied, feeling very unsure about everything. He took a deep breath in an attempt to relax himself. "No. I'll be fine."

"Good. I don't have work tomorrow. I'll come by in the morning to check up on you and we'll go from there."

"Sounds great," he stated with a fair degree of false enthusiasm. "I'll see you then."

Kitty regarded him for a minute before nodding and turning on her heel. She opened the door and exited the flat, and he locked the door behind her, sighing. He needed to ease up. He was far too tense. No one would connect him with Kitty, and even if they did, they wouldn't think to look in her neighbor's flat. They were fine. They didn't need to be in any hurry. In fact, the longer they waited the better: perhaps then the police wouldn't be after him with such vigor.

He decided that there was nothing better than a nice hot shower to ease his nerves. When he entered the toilet he found that it was not exempt from the clutter that was strewn across the rest of the flat. In fact, it looked like this Mr. Button rather liked reading while he was taking a bath, if the stack of books next to the tub was any indication. Covering most of the books with a towel, he pushed aside the curtains and turned on the water, letting out a gasp when he felt the water strike his skin. Far too hot – he hurried to make the water cooler. He wasn't trying to burn himself to death, after all.

And so he showered. After he was done and he had turned off the water, he ran into an issue that Kitty had brought up but he'd quite forgotten about: clothes. As repulsive as the idea of wearing the same dirtied clothes was, the idea of wearing someone else's was even more unattractive. Reluctantly he dressed in the same clothes, making a note to go through the man's closet and see which clothes might actually fit him and didn't look too nasty. Perhaps he could find a shirt or pair of jeans. By no means, however, would he be compelled to wear the man's pants. He would just have to find another way to deal with that issue.

He entered the sitting room and turned on the television, flipping to the channel on which he'd seen the news coverage. They were currently discussing something else (politics) which he was generally interested in, but tonight he did not feel especially warm toward the subject. The conversation turned to sports (the English national football team, in particular a famous midfielder with a famous wife who was currently playing for some team in America), and his attention was beginning to wander when the subject changed again.

"We interrupt our current football coverage to bring you a new development pertaining to the Julia Harknett murder case," the news anchor stated in his even-keeled voice. "Our own man Jonathan Drawlight is on the scene. Jonathan?"

"Thank you, Grant. I am here outside the home of a suspect in the case, the home of government worker Arthur Underwood and his wife Martha." Nathaniel could see several police cars outside of the house, and the elderly lady and her husband that he'd seen only an hour before were standing outside, hoping to get a glimpse at the action. "Earlier today the police implicated their adoptive son Nathaniel as a person of interest in the case, and his status was upgraded to that of a suspect later on in the day. The police were able to quickly obtain a warrant and perform a raid on the house, where they found only Mr. Underwood and his wife. The suspect had apparently been in the house only moments before but had somehow been able to avoid the police. Police chief Henry Duvall stressed that the Underwoods were not suspected of anything, and in fact he lauded them from their cooperation, which can be easily seen."

The man disappeared and a clip played – obviously the house earlier on in the night. Mr. Underwood was standing outside in his pajamas, a livid expression on his face. Behind him Mrs. Underwood stood in her dressing-gown, her head in her hands. Nathaniel thought with a pang of remorse that she might be crying.

"My wife and I just want to clarify that we do not stand behind the actions of our adoptive son," Mr. Underwood stated in a loud voice, a speckle of spit flying out from his mouth. He looked almost deranged. "We have done our best to raise the boy to be a good man and a good citizen, but it is clear he was already too far gone. We wish to express our condolences to the Harknett family at this sad time and will do whatever we can to aid the police in their search."

The screen returned to the live coverage. "We have attempted to reach others who knew the suspect: we left a message at his place of employment, Alexandria Books, but so far have not received a call back. The same has occurred with several of his teachers. However, one of his teachers, Ms. Rosanna Lutyens, has refused to comment. So far this boy remains an enigma. His relationship to Julia Harknett, his motivations for murdering her, his state of mind at the time: all are mysteries as of yet. I'm Jonathan Drawlight for Channel 4 News. Back to you, Grant."

"Thank you, Jonathan. In lighter news, Quentin Makepeace has revealed that he plans to write a comedy based on the life of his chum, Rupert Devereaux. Makepeace says that he hopes to begin shooting later this year and have the film out by next Christmas…"

Nathaniel turned off the television, a melting pot of many different emotions. On one hand, Mr. Underwood's denouncement of him angered Nathaniel very much, although it was not really a surprise: he'd long known that Underwood valued his reputation above all else. He did feel sorry for Mrs. Underwood, though. She didn't deserve this. On the other hand, though, neither did he.

But the most lasting effect of the news coverage was how it had only heightened his anxiety. Seeing the police cars, all of the effort and coverage that was going into this manhunt… it made him worry. Sure, no one would think to look for him in this flat, but the police weren't stupid. He couldn't underestimate them. There could be those in the force that were far smarter than him for all he knew, those that could outthink him, stay one step ahead of him. They were experienced in this field; he was not.

Yet Kitty was right: no one had even seen them talk together. They couldn't connect him with her.

Except for Bartimaeus.

Suddenly Kitty's suggestion didn't seem so naive, although for completely different reasons than the ones that she'd had in mind. They needed to get to Bartimaeus first. They needed to convince him of his innocence and at least get his word that he wouldn't rat them out. He felt a burst of hope now. Bartimaeus could vouch for him, that he'd been working, that he couldn't possibly have gone and murdered Harknett. He could clear his name…

Just as fast as the feeling came it faded. The police weren't just going to accept that explanation: he'd had an hour-long lunch break, had he not? And Harknett's flat couldn't be far from the book store. He remembered their conversation earlier that day, how Bartimaeus had noted that he didn't look well… of course he wouldn't look well if he'd just gotten done committing murder. Of course he'd look sick and worried.

And thus any hope of Bartimaeus giving him an alibi flew out the window.

Still, they needed to convince him to be silent. That, at least, was necessary. He'd have to talk to Kitty about that in the morning. It was of the utmost importance. Bartimaeus could ruin everything even without meaning to do so.

There was a creak somewhere in the apartment, and he groaned. It was going to be a long night.

He entered the man's bedroom, which was even worse than the rest of the flat. The bookshelves were empty, but as many books as there were on the floor and bed and dresser and windowsill, they still didn't look enough to fill all of the shelves. It seemed that Mr. Button had taken a good many books on his trip. Good riddance. He cleared off the bed before carefully lying down on top of it. He had no desire to even lift up the comforter, instead quite content to lie on top of it. Ignoring his fear and nervousness, he closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep.

He was spectacularly unsuccessful. For most of the night he lay awake and intensely alert to every bump and scratch that sounded throughout the flat, and even when he did doze off he was woken by some other sound that probably was just a figment of his imagination. Sometime around dawn he actually fell asleep and stayed asleep for almost an hour, but then the bed creaked and he jolted upright.

At around eight he gave up on sleep completely and dragged himself back into the sitting room. He was so tired, yet as much as he wanted to sleep he knew it was a waste of time and effort. Instead he turned on the television and set about making breakfast (again, eggs).

Nathaniel had finished and was cleaning up when there was a knock at the door. He nearly dropped his plate. He wanted to hide, perhaps under the sink, there looked like there was enough room down there for him, who looked under the sink anyways –

"It's Kitty. Open up!"

He relaxed, but only a little bit. He felt frozen in place, his desire to move quite overpowered by his desire to stay put (and that's not even speaking of his desire to run and hide). Finally he gathered his wits and approached the door; checking the peephole, he unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.

"Oh, come on, stop being such a worrywart," Kitty said as she pushed open the door and entered the flat. He shut it very hurriedly behind her and locked it. "No one will find you here. If they do, I'm in it just as much as you are."

"Somehow I doubt that," Nathaniel muttered, although she didn't seem to hear him.

"God, you look terrible. Did you sleep at all?" She didn't wait for an answer, instead stepping closer to further examine him. He felt rather like a patient in a clinic under her gaze. "What'd you do, jump up at every little sound in the night?"

"No," he said, although even he realized the feebleness of his answer.

"Mm." Her expression softened, although that didn't mean that he was spared from more inspection. She seemed quite intrigued by his eyes, or, more likely, the bags under them. "I saw the thing with your guardians on the news."

"Oh. Yes, they were on there for a bit, I think."

"He shouldn't have said those things."

"No, he shouldn't have."

She gave him a curious look. "You're an odd duck. You know that, right? Every time I ask you anything personal you jump back like I'm breathing fire or something." He didn't answer this, seeing as he couldn't really explain it either. He just liked his privacy. "You're not going to tell me anything, I know. Whatever. We need to decide what we're going to do today, or what I'm going to do today. You've already ruled out Bartimaeus, but –"

"Er, yes, about that." Cue the awkwardness. "I was thinking last night and now I've decided that we need to talk to Bartimaeus. But not to get him to help us."

"We need to convince him not to talk," Kitty finished. "Yeah, I was thinking about that last night. That's what I was about to say, actually. Bartimaeus could connect us and possibly lead them here. And that would be bad, to put it lightly."

"You need to talk to him," Nathaniel said, sighing. "I don't know what we should say to him… tell him that I was at the store all day, that I couldn't have done it. Tell him…" He clenched his jaw. "Tell him everything. He won't understand unless he has the full story. Start with the first thing at Druid's… he should remember how I came back without the autograph I'd gone to get in the first place. Don't miss out on anything. Make sure you tell him about yesterday. When I came back he thought I looked sick… which doesn't look too good if I've allegedly just murdered someone, but the whole thing with the police would explain that away nicely."

He grimaced when he admitted Bartimaeus's comment, but Kitty appeared to pay it no mind. "Very well. Tell him everything. Got it. I was going to do that anyway, but you saying that eighteen times has just strengthened my resolve. Now, besides Bartimaeus… you're wearing the same clothes as last night. Do I need to go get at least a shirt and jeans or whatever?"

"Uh, yeah. I've got some money here." He took Mr. Underwood's wallet out of his pocket and pulled out several crisp notes. "There's fifty pounds. That should cover it."

"Okay. I was going to go get some hair dye –"

"What!"

"– but I realized I've got some in my flat. Stop looking so scandalized, it's the easiest thing to do and it'll help at least a bit. But don't worry, we'll do that when I get back. You've still got a few hours yet with your precious black hair. Now, is that all?"

He glared at her for a few seconds but she didn't relent. So he grumbled, "Yes."

"Come on. Is it really that big of a deal?"

"Why don't I just get a wig and borrow some of your clothes? I know they won't be expecting me to turn into a girl."

"Hm, that's a thought. Kidding, seriously, don't get too excited. You'll strain something."

"I'm not – oh, whatever." He sniffed. "I think that's all. You should be going. We don't want to waste time."

"I suppose so," she said. "Very well. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you then."

And she left. He locked the door behind her and put his hand to his hair. It was a silly thing, but he liked his hair. It was possibly his favorite thing about his appearance. And he really wouldn't look good as a blond. But it was necessary, and he knew he was being somewhat childish about it all. Still, it was his hair.

He rummaged around in the fridge for something to eat, finally getting out a canister of ready-to-make scones and some leftover bacon that had been hidden behind the half-eaten sandwich. He began preheating the oven and placed the bacon in the microwave. He wasn't a very good cook. He would have to work on that.

The bacon finished and in a few minutes the oven was ready. He placed the scones on a tray and then the tray in the oven and nipped at a few pieces of bacon as he waited for the scones to finish. Absent-mindedly he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, not really paying too much attention to the morning news program. He had just removed the scones from the oven when a certain headline caught his attention.

"And in other news, there has been a twist in the Julia Harknett murder case," announced the woman anchor gravely. "Earlier this morning there was a fire in central London at the house of Arthur and Martha Underwood, the legal guardians of the only suspect in the case. Firefighters did their best, but Mr. and Mrs. Underwood could not be saved. The neighborhood was thrown into further chaos."

Nathaniel dropped the tray onto the counter. That _bastard._

"I can't believe it," the elderly lady next door was saying. "Arthur and Martha have always been very nice to us, it's strange to see them gone. But I always knew that boy was trouble… no doubt it was him that did this. This wasn't accidental, I'll tell you that."

The anchor reappeared. "At first the police did not comment on whether the fire was a result of arson or just an accident. However, Police Chief Henry Duvall has since spoken about the police's position."

"This was arson, no doubt," said Duvall, straightening his collar with sufficient pomp. "It started in the upstairs bedroom – the bedroom of our suspect. We believe it was their adoptive son that did this. We think he was trying to destroy evidence; whether he meant to kill his guardians is immaterial. We're sorry for the entire Underwood family and this community. The Underwoods were good citizens. However, this young man has taken three lives already, and he could very well take more. This could just be the first part of the worst killing spree London has seen in thirty-odd years."

Nathaniel was not aware of his movements. He was not really aware of anything besides the deep, terrible anger that was rising up in him at that moment. He wanted to hit someone, something, anything. Their murders had been pointless, their only aim to aggravate and isolate him further. Mr. Underwood, fine, that was regrettable but not heart-breaking (especially considering his speech only the night before). But Mrs. Underwood… that was unforgivable.

His anger got the best of him as he grabbed the nearest thing to him and threw it as hard as he could towards the door. The coffee mug hit the wall and shattered into several pieces, falling to the floor unceremoniously. There might have been a dent in the wall, but he couldn't see, and he really didn't care.

He was going to get revenge for Mrs. Underwood. There was no doubt in his mind. At the very least he would politically ruin Simon Lovelace and make his life a living hell. If Lovelace was lucky, he would only kill him.

-


	17. Seventeen

Wow, only 5 chapters to go after this. That means get ready to see Lovelace pretty soon.

There's some bigger news. I recently discovered the first half of the first chapter of a fic written a year before this, a fic with a similar premise but MUCH different execution. If you'd like to see the original draft, so to speak, of A Day in the Life (and Bartimaeus's last name!), head over to my LJ. If you go to my Author profile, just click on my homepage. If it's not the first post, click on my memories and you'll find it there.

So.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Seventeen

-

When Kitty left Nathaniel she went back to her flat. She'd left her tote bag somewhere in the living room; after spending a good amount of time and effort looking for it she found it under the sofa. She entered her room and grabbed the dye, remembering Nathaniel's outrage with a hint of amusement. She walked back out into the sitting room and, almost as an afterthought, pressed the message button on the phone console.

There was a message from George that mostly consisted of him babbling about this and that and he was sick and would she _please_ be in early on Sunday? The message ended, and a different voice came from the machine.

"Kitty, it's Mum." The Jones women always had a knack for uncanny timing. "Just checking in on you. Your father was disappointed he didn't get to see you last time, and he wants to know if you'll be coming back any time soon. He's very serious about it – he's threatening to come visit you if you don't come over here!" Her mother chuckled. "Oh dear. Anyways, just making sure you're all right and everything. I hope you've not got yourself in too much trouble."

Kitty grinned at what her law-abiding, police-fearing parents would say if they knew of her exploits with a wanted "murderer."

"Call me back when you get the time. We'd love to hear from you. Bye."

Apparently karma was working in her favor, and that was the end of the messages. At the rate she was going a priest would've been the next person to call, reminding her that going around with a murder suspect is a sin in the eyes of God (and more importantly, the church).

Fairly certain that she had everything she needed, she left. She couldn't remember when the book store opened – somehow she doubted Bartimaeus would be in there this early – so she decided to stop by Druid's and get a bite to eat. After working there for over a year she couldn't stand the food or coffee any more, but she got everything at a reduced rate, and she wasn't exactly rich.

"You're not working today," Gladys stated in a plain voice as she approached the front.

"Trust me, I know. But I need breakfast and I'm short on cash."

"Aren't we all." Gladys came from a well-off family and tried to hide the fact that her mother sent her money every two weeks. "Take a seat somewhere nearby. I'm bored out of my mind, and George is horrible conversation."

Kitty knew this to be true, so she obliged. Gladys followed her, waving for one of the other waitresses to come over.

"Just a decaf and a thing of doughnut holes," Kitty said before the girl could even take her order. "And a glass of water, too."

And the girl scampered off. Gladys watched her retreating form with an odd look on her face. "Interesting."

"What?"

"This isn't the first time I've noticed this, either, but it's still interesting. The other employees seem to be afraid of you."

"No they're not!" Kitty protested.

"Oh really? And what do you call that terrified expression on her face?"

"Er… respect."

"Uh huh. Right. Well, in that case, I think you might be the most respected person on staff."

Kitty's food arrived a few minutes later, and she had to admit that the girl's actions were timid, to put it lightly. She nearly dropped the tray and then stuttered her apologies before pretty much running away from them when Kitty said it was fine.

"See?" Gladys asked.

Kitty took a sip of her coffee, feeling slightly crankier. "Be quiet."

She spent the next forty-five minutes at the coffeehouse, Gladys occasionally wandering over for conversation when George wasn't looking (and sometimes when he was – the subsequent conversation between employer and employee was possibly the most entertaining thing she'd heard in some time). She finished, told Gladys goodbye and left the coffeehouse. Unfortunately, the book store did not appear to be open yet. So she waited.

It appeared that she was not the only one there. A news van was across the street, probably waiting to get a quote from the employer of the murder suspect. Also, two others were waiting outside, a disinterested girl and a very unhappy man next to her. It seemed that Bartimaeus's employees were already here and waiting for him.

However, she had to have been the only person on the lookout for Bartimaeus himself (or, in the case of the news team, the only one paying attention). She saw him a few blocks down, groggy-eyed and sluggish in his movements as he walked towards them. With a glance at the van, she hurried across and then down the street. He didn't notice her approaching him and thus was thoroughly surprised when she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down an alleyway next to a sandwich store.

"What the – what are you doing here?"

She looked around them carefully before turning back to him. "I'm here because of Nathaniel."

"Oh, jolly," he said, his face darkening. "Like I haven't had enough trouble because of all of that."

"Hold on – what?"

"The police came knocking on my door last night. Fun guys. We partied all night long. I thought it was especially fun when they went through all my things and left my flat in a mess. That was just awesome."

"I – I'm sorry," she finished lamely.

He didn't seem to think much of this weak apology, but nevertheless he grunted, "Don't be. It's not your fault. And to tell the truth I'm always a bit grouchy in the mornings. I'm not trying to bite your head off or anything."

"I know." She thought she heard something, but it was merely an old lady fussing with her purse nearby them. "So it was really bad, huh?"

"Pretty bad," he said, looking a bit less grumpy. "I mean, it wasn't the end of the world or anything, but yeah, it was annoying. This one chubby bloke – must've been the size of a hippo, I kid you not – went through all my food. Said that it was 'very important evidence.' Of course, I didn't know that they investigated evidence by eating it and chugging it down with my last six-pack of beer, but hey, I'm not a cop. I just watch those shows on TV."

"Ah. I see." The old lady dropped a large amount of change on the ground and subsequently swore very loudly as she bent down to pick it up. "So they came after you because of the thing with Nathaniel?"

"Yeah. I think they thought that I was hiding him away somewhere in my flat." He snorted derisively. "As if. We're not the best of chums, me and Nat."

This was somewhat discouraging, but she did her best to pay it no mind. Nathaniel had told her that it would be a difficult, and probably impossible, task. "Oh. So… did they find anything or bring you in for questioning? Or did they just let you off?"

"Just let me off? After an hour's worth of searching and hassling me, they let me off." He seemed to realize that he was getting aggressive again and sighed. "Again, sorry. Not meaning to jump down your throat. But yeah, they eventually had to admit that I didn't have him somewhere under my bed with a lollipop and a comic book. Then of course they proceeded to tell me of the consequences if I _was_ helping Nat out, but I think that was just for dramatic effect. I was shocked that I didn't see a documentary crew anywhere around, I was sure they were televising it."

"Consequences," she said unsurely.

"Yeah. Prison time. Fines. All that nonsense."

"Right." Kitty did her best to be casual, which turned out to be an extremely difficult thing when she was talking to the employer of a wanted murder suspect who she was currently assisting in evading the police. "So, uh, do you think he did it? Murdered that lady and his guardians?"

Bartimaeus's eyes narrowed, and he regarded her coolly from his position against the brick wall. "Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I mean, I'm just wondering. I'm finding it a bit hard to fathom myself, is all."

He looked at her for several seconds, and she got the distinct feeling that he was scanning her facial expression, reading her like an open book. Finally he abated, apparently satisfied. "Yeah, it is a bit hard to get your head around. Nat's not the murdering type."

"So do you think he did it?" she pressed.

His answer surprised her.

"No."

"But –" there was a pause as she realized that he hadn't replied with the affirmative "– wait, you don't?"

"No," he repeated. "Why? Do you? Are you going to go tattle to the police on Big Bad Bartimaeus?"

"No!" she exclaimed, angry and defiant. "I'm not going to go _tattle_ on you! I was just surprised, that's all! I didn't think you'd actually say that!"

"Yeah, to be honest I was hoping to shock you a bit. But I mean it. I don't think he did it. I even the mistake of telling the police that once last night."

"What?"

"Yeah. At that point they deemed a strip search necessary. Fun, fun. It's been far too long since anyone has handled my –"

"Trust me, I get it," she said quickly, trying to dispel several very obscene images playing in her head at that moment. "Ugh. But they really strip-searched you?"

"Yes," replied Bartimaeus. To her relief, this time he neglected to go into any further detail.

"That's horrible." He looked rather mollified by this, and indeed even fluffed his coat collar up a bit. "Really, I can't believe you went through all of that."

"Well, I don't know, it's not like it's the worst I've been through, honestly," he muttered.

"I'm sure," agreed Kitty. "But you really don't think he killed them? Why?"

"Because he was in my store the entire day, that's why," he huffed. "I mean, it's not rocket science."

She nodded. "And what'd the police say when you told them that?"

"They reminded me that he probably had a lunch break, which he did, and asked me if he could have ever slipped out without me noticing, which is slightly possible. But I still don't think he went and murdered someone and then came quietly on back to work."

"Well, I can tell you that he didn't do it during lunch," Kitty stated, feeling bold.

He was skeptical. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"He was with me."

This delighted Bartimaeus more than she could ever have imagined. He shifted around excitedly, quite nearly dancing in his spot near the wall. She worried for a second that he might jump up and hit his head against a brick that jutted out in the wall.

"Aha! I knew it! Oh my, this is great! I told him when he got back that he looked like – well, he looked like you'd just dumped him, to be honest, but that's besides the point." He stopped. "Unless you had just dumped him?"

"That would be impossible, seeing as we've never been together."

"Oh. Well, still. It's a minor victory."

She thought about commenting on this but decided against it. Some people just couldn't be reasoned with. "Right. Well, he couldn't have done it during lunch, unless he did it in the space of about fifteen minutes, which I find somewhat unlikely. And if he was working in the back room of your store, he couldn't have gotten out without you noticing, could he? Is there a door in the back room?"

"Funny," Bartimaeus said with a curious look on his face, "I never said he was working in the back room."

Kitty blanched. Before she could make a haphazard excuse, though, he continued.

"But to answer your question, yes, there is a door in the back room leading out, but it makes a sound across the store when it's opened so I know when someone's going out or a shipment's coming in. But like I said, it's possible he could have somehow got out the back without setting that alarm off or without me noticing, but I doubt it. I was planning on checking this morning to see if the alarm on the door worked."

"I see," she said. "I think it will."

"So do I."

They were quiet for a time. Kitty finally got the courage to speak.

"Bartimaeus, I need –"

"Before you tell me anything and ask me to do anything, I don't want to know," he inserted before she could even formulate her question. "And to be frankly honest, I don't want to do anything, either. I don't want to get involved with whatever it is you might be involved in, and I don't want to know anything that could put you or me – mostly me – in danger. Sorry if I've crushed your hopes or anything, but that's just the plain truth. I'm not asking, so please don't tell."

She didn't know how long she just stared at him. He seemed to grow slightly uneasy, but he didn't recant his statement. Eventually she let out a deep sigh and nodded, doing her best to contain her inexplicable disappointment (Nathaniel had warned her, hadn't he?).

"Okay. All right. I was kind of expecting that, really. But you're not going to –"

"Don't worry," he said firmly. "As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened."

On the sidewalk a man had stubbed his toe against the base of a light pole and was now hopping around cursing. Kitty watched him absently. "Okay. That sounds fair. Do you know where that thrift store is? The one next to the fast-food place?"

"Er… yeah," replied Bartimaeus, evidently unsure of why she was asking.

"My flat complex is right across from that store," she said briskly, grabbing her bag and hoisting it up higher on her shoulder. "Number twenty-one. Just in case you change your mind."

"All… all right." He gave her an odd look – almost pitying. "Don't count on it, though."

Kitty just flashed him a small smile. "Don't worry. I'm not."

There were no goodbyes; they both just tilted their heads to each other respectfully as they exited the alleyway and went their separate ways.

She was torn somewhere between anger and disappointment as she began the walk back to her flat. While his reaction shouldn't have surprised her, some part of her had genuinely thought that he would help them. Naïve. On the bright side of things, at least he had promised not to tell the police anything, and the fact that he actually believed them was a somewhat encouraging sign. If Bartimaeus could believe them, then surely others could be persuaded. However, that was not their first concern. First they needed find a way to keep the cops from getting to Nathaniel. Now that Bartimaeus had shot them down, Kitty knew she must focus on getting down to business, and she did her best to concentrate her thoughts on that and that alone.

Needless to say, it was harder said than done. Her mind wandered. She thought about food (for some reason she was still hungry); she thought about her mother (a waste of time, really); she thought about how she'd forgotten to get Nathaniel's clothes (but she was almost back to the flat, surely she could just go get them later). So she entered the complex and walked to the door of Mr. Button and knocked on it.

"It's me, Kitty. I'm back."

It took him a while to answer. Finally the door opened, and she shuffled in without even looking at him.

"I didn't get the clothes, really sorry, I'll have to get them later." She paused for breath and set her bag down on the sofa. "I went and talked to Bartimaeus, it was just like you said, he was totally – my God, what happened to you?"

He looked terrible. His hair was thrown up in different directions and his clothes were rumpled, but it was his eyes that really drew her attention. It was not the sunken bags under them (which were perfectly understandable after a night without sleep); it was the dangerous, even murderous glint in them that made him appear quite mad.

"You're back," he croaked in a hoarse voice.

"What happened?" she asked again. "Are the police – do they – Jesus, Nathaniel, _what happened?"_

He grinned at her in a lopsided, false way that she didn't at all like. It seemed too… dark. "Lovelace has struck again."

"Hold on – what?" she stammered. "He's – he's killed someone else?"

"No," Nathaniel said plainly, eyes flashing in the dimness of the flat. "Not one person. Two."

It took her several seconds to process this information. "Oh my God. Oh my God! He's… who is it? Who's he gone after this time? Harknett's family?"

Nathaniel just stared at her.

"Who – oh." Suddenly it hit her. Of course. That _bastard._ "Oh my God. He's gone after the Underwoods, hasn't he?"

"Bingo," he replied, but his grin had disappeared. "Very neat. Arson. Why, I even remember Mrs. Underwood mentioning something about the house being susceptible to fire several days ago. Very convenient. And seeing as they have a suspect already, it's not much work for the police."

"You." Her eyes traveled to a spot on the floor next to the door, where the shards of what appeared to have once been a coffee mug were. "Oh God. I'm so sorry. How long has it been?"

"An hour." An unsure look came across his face. "Or so," he added after some deliberation. "I don't really know. I've come to suspect that his clocks are all a few minutes off."

"Oh God, Nathaniel, I'm so sorry," she started, but he waved her off.

"No, it's Lovelace that will be sorry. I'm going to kill him," he said in a matter-of-fact voice that quickly grew into a desperate snarl. "I'm going to kill him just like he killed all of them. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I know that he's going to die very soon and I'm going to be the one to finish him off."

"Oh – how could you say that! Don't ever say that!" she exclaimed fiercely, and he retreated backwards. "Then you'll be just like him! Don't you see? You can't go around looking for revenge. You'll just turn into Lovelace. Don't let him ruin you, too!"

"I think he's already done that," he said with dry humor, gesturing to his crinkled shirt. He responded back with equal ferocity, "Perhaps you don't understand. He's killed my family. I think it's only fair that I kill him. I'm not going to go around killing his friends or anything. I don't have any problems with _his_ friends for family. I just need to kill him, is all."

"Shut up," she hissed. "Shut up right now. You're not going to do any such thing, because if you try it, I'll be right there to stop you. When you're done with your righteous anger and grand plots of vengeance, we can discuss what we're going to do now to clear your name and keep you from the police. But take your time, please. Spend as long as you want fantasizing about different ways you could get revenge on Lovelace. I'm sure it's very productive."

Nathaniel's eyes never left her. He spoke in a much quieter, more pleading voice. "He killed her. He killed all of them and it's because of me. I have to do this."

"No, you don't," she replied softly. "They wouldn't want you to."

She wasn't sure what compelled her to do it. Generally she was not a very sentimental person. Nevertheless, she soon found herself taking a step forward and wrapping her arms around him in a delicate hug. Her face pressed against his collarbone while his hands floated somewhere awkwardly behind the small of her back. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, er, I know." He finally just let his hands fall to his side, unable to find an appropriate place to rest them. "I – I reckon I probably shouldn't murder him. That might be going a bit too far."

"Just a bit," she agreed, releasing him from her grasp. She still stood only a few inches from him. He was not much taller than her; her eyes came up to only barely below his nose. "I'm sorry."

He didn't seem to hear her. "What do we do now, then? What did Bartimaeus say?"

Kitty could tell by his tone that he was trying to be as business-like as possible and trying to take his mind off of the Underwoods' murders. She decided to go along with it.

"Bartimaeus surprised me. Apparently the police were by his flat last night."

"Really?" His stern expression wavered. "Oh no. Oh no, he's probably told them something that would help them find us. This is not good."

"He didn't tell them anything."

"You're joking."

"No. According to him they went through all of his stuff, even gave him a strip search, but he didn't tell them anything that would help them." She cleared her throat. "He told them that he doesn't think that you did it."

Nathaniel's eyes widened, almost comically. If the situation had been any different she would have laughed. "He said that? Does he mean it?"

"I certainly think he was being genuine," she said honestly.

"Mmhm." He appeared to be thinking, probably trying to figure out what exactly the catch was. He obviously didn't trust Bartimaeus in the least. "And why does he think I didn't do it?"

"I don't know. Because he's a good read of people." Originally she had been intending to leave it at that, but at his serious look her resolve faltered. "And also because he doesn't see how you logically had time during the day to murder Harknett, especially after I told him that you were with me at lunch."

"I bet he had something to say about _that_," muttered Nathaniel.

"Uh, a little, yeah."

He was stooped in thought again, so she didn't see any reason to add, _Oh, and he danced a nice little victory jig, too._ He ran his hand through his hair – something she'd noticed seemed to be a nervous habit of his – and asked her, "And what else did he say when you talked to him? Will he help us?"

"No."

He grinned, again without humor. "I told you.'

"I know," Kitty replied, and suddenly she felt like an idiot. "But I tried anyways. He just said that he didn't want to be involved, that he didn't want us to tell anything that could potentially compromise him. I think he's had enough of the police in the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. Helping someone wanted for murder escape said police probably isn't too high on his to-do list. But on the bright side, he said he wouldn't turn us in."

"And you believe him."

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyways, "Yes, I do. He wasn't lying, Nathaniel. I know that for a fact."

"Okay." He let out a deep sigh, taking her by surprise: she'd expected to have some sort of argument over this. "Fine. I trust your judgment. If you believe him, so do I."

Kitty did not mention that she found it very hard to believe _him_, but he appeared to have already guessed this.

"So. Bartimaeus clearly cannot help us, and thus we must turn to other avenues." He clapped his hands together. "What shall we do next?"

It took her a short while to remember the contents of her bag. "Oh, I know! We can dye your hair finally, like we said we would earlier."

"Oh."

"Not what you had in mind?" she asked.

"No, not particularly," he admitted. He was not quite an example of sheer enthusiasm. "The police will surely know me even with different-colored hair. I say we can just forego this hair job altogether. I really don't think it'll make that much of a difference."

"I'm sure that you'd be surprised. Come on. You're doing this whether you like it or not."

It took much cajoling, but he finally assented. He did his best to delay, but for the most part it was done in good humor, and she didn't particularly mind. It was nice to see the change in his attitude, even if it did feel partially contrived. He was not murderous anymore, at least, and that was progress enough.

"Are you sure?" he asked her as he stared at the showerhead spurting water across the tile of the shower. "Couldn't it stain the floor?"

"No clue," Kitty responded, shrugging. "That's why we're not doing it in the sink."

Now that he was actually faced with the task he was much less agreeable, and after maybe ten minutes' debate (and a brief game of hide-and-seek – she found him in Mr. Button's closet) his head was finally under the water with a little help from her hand gripped firmly on his neck. They both quickly found that dying hair was a messy experience; it was a good thing that they'd thought to place a towel around his neck or his shirt would have become both rumpled and yellow-streaked. It took them a large amount of time, mainly thanks to his own reluctance, but they eventually finished, and when they were done he looked very much a different person.

"It says to not dry all the way," she told him as he scrubbed his head with the ruined towel. "Let it stay a little moist."

"I look ridiculous," he whined in response.

Kitty personally felt that this was very true but thought it more prudent to merely say, "You don't look the same as you did fifteen minutes ago. The cops might be thrown off at least."

"Yes, I imagine it's quite hard to catch a runaway murder suspect when you're doubled over in hysterics," agreed Nathaniel. He twirled a strand of his pale blond hair with his fingers. "Oh dear Lord. This is horrible. Remind me to never listen to you again."

"Isn't that self-contradictory?"

"No idea. Never mind, I'll just make a mental note of it." He eyed the strand distastefully. "I look like a stoner surf bum."

"I was going to go with 'failed rock star' or 'teen pop sensation,' but that fits too," Kitty said with mock seriousness. "Really, just learn how to sing and you're good. If they come near you just sing a popular song by a boy band and I'm sure they won't arrest you. They'll probably ask you to autograph something for their daughters."

"This isn't permanent, is it?"

She checked the bottle, just in case. "No."

He let out a breath of relief. "Good."

"It'll come out when your hair grows back in," she finished.

"That's it. I hope you've got black or brown or – God, even green would do – because we're dying this again. I'm not going around as a bleach blond skate punk. I'm just not doing it. I'd rather rot in prison than get mistaken by an eight-year-old girl for her favorite pop singer."

"Hm. Now that's an interesting picture."

"To a sadist, perhaps."

"I'd say that you're being melodramatic, but I actually think you care that much." Kitty looked at him, thinking. "I know what part of the problem is. Your eyebrows don't match."

"Oh goodie," he said, fake enthusiasm dripping from his voice. "I'll be blond and blind! It rolls so nicely off of the tongue, too."

"No, I'm sure that we can do this somehow without getting it all in your eyes –"

She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

-


	18. Eighteen

Agh, sorry that took so long. I was being lazy and then I went out of town and I was extra lazy, sooooooo yeah. The usual for me. There are four more chapters after this, so enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Eighteen

-

I must admit that after my talk with Kitty Jones about Nat's situation, my mind did not wander easily from the subject. It intrigued me, to say the least. It was more excitement (and more trouble) than I'd had in fifteen-odd years, discounting several life-or-death situations during those fifteen-odd years which by my standards were rather dull. I got to thinking a lot of about Nat and Kitty. Well, not really, but I think I would have if I ahnd't been viciously assaulted as I walked up to the store.

"Hello? Hello, sir! Are you the owner of Alexandria Books?"

A busty blonde was waltzing up to me, cheeks flushed violet and a microphone in her hand. She wasn't alone, either. She had a cameraman at her back and several other reporters on her heels.

"Er… yeah?"

"Good! Yes, Mr. Bartimaeus…"

She waited for me to fill out the rest. I just kind of gaped at her as if she'd grown an extra head. "That's it? You know that I'm the owner of the store and you want to talk to me but you can't even find out my last name?"

"Yes, well, it's very difficult, it doesn't seem to be on many records." Her words rattled off at a faster rate than kids ran out of the hallway on the last day of school (or machine-gun fire, if you like the traditional comparison – I'm just trying to be innovative and entertaining). "Mr. Bartimaeus…" I didn't fill in the silence for her. She tapped her high-heeled foot _one-two-three-four_ on the pavement and did her best not to curse at me in front of the cameras. "Mr. Bartimaeus, what are your views on the Underwood situation?"

"My views?" I asked, starting to get irritated at all of her shoe-tapping and huffing. "I dunno, but I've got a pretty nice view right now. Do your bosses make you wear the low-cut blouses for the single male viewers at home or is that just a personal choice?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn't bite. Unfortunate. "Mr. Bartimaeus, what do you think of the Underwood situation?"

"I think that I'd like to get to work. I've got books to sell, you know, murderers to hide." I paused for dramatic effect and faked a grimace. "Oh my God! Did I just say that out loud? Whoops!"

At this point I really started to hope that it wasn't a live feed. I may not care what people think about me, but there could have been kids watching at home. I didn't want to set too bad of an example for them. Besides that, I felt completely unashamed. Honest.

"Mr. Bartimaeus, please, joking aside…"

"Joking aside, lady, I'd advise you to get the hell away from my business and go to your nearest department store. See if you can't find a longer skirt." So much for the kids. To make up for my slip of tongue, I added in, "There could be children watching at home, you know. Although I'm sure you're quite popular with fourteen-year-old boys."

"Mr. Bartimaeus, please! What are your views on the Underwood case?"

I was actually able to detect some desperation between her powder and paint now. I began to wonder if my barbed comments might cost the lady her job. I decided to ease up, ever so slightly.

"Fine, you can come inside the store and ask me whatever you want," I said as nicely as I could. For a second she broke out into a ridiculously white grin. "If you buy, oh, let's say a hundred pounds worth of merchandise, I might actually answer one. Now, if that is all, I'm going to open my store. Good day. Remember what I said about that skirt."

I turned away from Ms. Skimpy-Pants and made my way to the front doors. Jenkins was watching me with a very cautious eye while Eva seemed to be admiring me from her vantage point next to a newspaper machine.

"I like you a lot more now," she remarked as I pulled out the keys to unlock the doors.

"Really? Only now? Why didn't you just tell me to offend an entire news station back when I hired you, then?"

I was feeling so daring that I decided to wink at her. If you should know anything about me, it's that I don't wink. That's for white-bearded wizards and profane working-to-middle class men. But this wink fit, I think. At least Eva didn't sprout a lightning bolt scar and begin trying to decipher what vital piece of information that wink hid (as in the case of the wizard) or slap me (as in the case of the lewd man). So I think she took it well enough. I made a mental note to try out winking in other situations, just for kicks and giggles.

The news team didn't follow me in. I was kind of disappointed. I was hoping they'd come in and buy a hundred pounds' worth of crap. I would've been so happy I probably would have told them exactly who Nat was hiding with and where they were hiding. (Only kidding. I'm fairly loyal. For the most part.)

They did stay quite firmly entrenched outside the store, which was aggravating, but hey, at least we'd get some press coverage. Not necessarily positive press coverage, but as someone once said, any publicity is good publicity. Looking at many of the drug-addled Hollywood starlets, I'd say that that person was an idiot, but it became a famous quote nevertheless, so they must have had some idea of what they were doing with that whole publicity thing.

We got the most business I've ever seen for opening hours – before we'd even gotten the place cleaned up there was already a short queue outside. I imagine it had something to do with the news team and the murder case and everything, but that may just be me. At any rate, not too many people seemed very interesting in actually buying anything, instead heading straight for me and beginning to chat excitedly.

"Oh, what's that you say?" I would say innocently whenever this happened. "Hm, I notice you're not buying anything. I'm sorry, I can't hear anyone who hasn't bought a book here. It's a very unique disability. I believe I'm the only one of my kind. So sorry."

I don't think we'd ever sold so many books in such a short space of time as we did then. No matter what the deal with Nat was, he clearly deserved a raise, or at least some sort of commendation: he knew how to sell books.

Despite all of the money we were making, I was beginning to tire of all of the idiotic questions, none of which I really cared to answer. Jenkins had of course taken the back room, being the misanthropic lunatic that he is, but Eva was genuinely interested in the chaos in the front of the store. Perhaps that was because no one really bothered to talk to her, save to ask her where the cheapest book in the store was. Everyone was very interested in me, however. While I admit sometimes I can act like I'm starved for attention, this was attention overload. I felt like I'd eaten an exceptionally large bowl of penne pasta with an exceptionally creamy sauce, followed by a thick burrito with refried beans and the hottest hot sauce known to man. In case you're wondering just what that means, I'll simplify it for you: I felt like I'd eaten far too much far too quickly, and now I was sick. Not literally, though. That last part's just a metaphor. You know what? Whatever. It was too much attention. You get the point.

I soon lost track of time, which in itself isn't a remarkable thing as I hardly had time to breathe, let alone look at the clock. When the phone rang, though, I held my hand up to the long line that had formed in front of me and picked it up. I needed a break, and this was my golden opportunity for at least a small breather.

"Hello, Alexandria Books. Bartimaeus speaking."

"Bartimaeus! It's Anne."

"Oh! Hello, Anne. How are you feeling?"

The man at the front of the line looked at me impatiently, a picture book in his hands. I gave him a look that I hope said, _Next time buy an _actual_ book, cheapskate._ Seeing as he just checked his watch impatiently, I'm not really sure if he got the message. I tried to control my irritation; not only were picture books cheap, but they were notoriously irritating to shelve.

"Better, much better," she said, and I could tell it was true from her voice, which wasn't nearly as scratchy as it had been the past few days. "How's business?"

"Oh, just fantastic, some of the best we've had. You should see it."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. I don't think she'd heard about the Nathaniel mess yet. "Well, now that you mention it, I _am_ feeling much better. I know you've had to work a lot recently, and I know that you're already on shift, but if you want to I'll switch out with you later on today."

"That's perfect, actually," I replied, relieved. "If you could get up here right now that would be great. I realize I haven't exactly been on the clock for very long, but all of this activity is tiring me out, and I had a late night. I know it's putting you on the spot, but…"

"No, no, that's fine," she assured me. "I'll be up there in a few minutes."

"Ah, thanks." I stopped, a new thought coming to me. "Hey, does your husband know you're doing this?"

She was quiet for a moment. "He's out of the house," she admitted. "But I really do feel better. You know him."

I laughed. "Yeah, I do. Well, don't get caught sneaking out or anything. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Very well. Will do. Bye."

"Adios."

See? I can be charismatic when I want to. I'm cold and aloof out of personal choice. Honestly, if that didn't prove it to you, I don't know what will, short of hosting a talk show or something. And I am _not_ cut out to be a talk show host.

I set down the phone and greeted the next impatient customer, who seemed just about to walk out of the store without buying anything. I felt a surge of energy rushing through me, probably due to the fact that in several minutes I would be walking out on all of these people and would probably get yelled at and booed excessively. I don't know why, but there's something inherently exciting about that. It really gets your blood flowing.

Anne showed up much sooner than I'd expected her to. As she entered, I began to suspect that she'd already been in the car when she'd called, and that she'd just called from her cell phone. Women are sneaky like that. Us guys, we don't think like that. It's the women you've got to watch out for. They're tricky; dangerous, even. Don't tell them I said that, though: they're also very vengeful. I should know.

"All right, folks, sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm switching out with Anne over here," I announced as I stood from my seat. "Don't worry, though – just direct all of your questions to Anne, she can answer them just as well as I can." Which wasn't saying much, seeing as I hadn't really answered any yet. "I'm just going to the back room, I'll be back in a bit."

There was much groaning and booing, as I'd predicted, and Anne gave me a look as she approached me behind the desk. "Back in a bit?"

"Long story," I whispered. "Don't worry, though. I'm leaving for the day. Just don't tell them that. Mob mentality and all."

And so I left her to said mob. I never said I was particularly brave, did I? Didn't think so. But Anne was tough. I was fairly certain she could handle it without enduring crippling bodily harm.

But that's not to say that it was any easier for me. No, no, I had to fight my way through an entire army of people just to get past the desk. All right, maybe I'm exaggerating a little there – a couple of people may have shouted something at me from afar, and one guy might have tapped me on the shoulder – but let's just call that poetic license.

The back of the store was rather quiet. I entered the back room silently, where Jenkins was methodically reshuffling several folders.

"What're you doing here?" he asked me, ever blunt.

"I'm leaving for the day. Just thought I'd check up on you before I go." I surveyed the room with an appraising eye. Nat had really done a good job, although it pained me to admit it. "You know, there's not much work in here, and there's a huge crowd out there. You should go help out."

"Fine," he replied as he adjusted his glasses with all the necessary drama. "Why are you going? Who's in charge?"

"Anne, she's just come in. Apparently she's feeling better." I strode to the back door, ignoring his furtive glares. "Finish up in here and get out there as soon as you can. They're going to need help."

I didn't wait for a reply that I didn't really care to hear. Instead, I pushed open the door, noting with some satisfaction that the alarm did indeed beep for a second, alerting everyone in the store that the back door was opening (although only the staff would know what that beep meant). Nat really couldn't have gone out this way. I may be lazy and sluggish at times, but I was fairly certain I hadn't fallen asleep on the job. Ffoukes slept enough for all of us.

The alleyway behind the store was dim and dirty, and a noisome scent wafted through the air with all the stealth of the stealthiest thing you can think of (please forgive me: I'm running out of apt comparisons). My fingers twitched; my eyes narrowed; my nostrils tried desperately to close themselves. I hated coming back here to get an order out of a supply truck, and as soon as I entered the alleyway I remembered why.

To tell the truth I hadn't exactly spent much time trying to get in and out of the alley, as I generally left that to the trucks. So now I was faced with an interesting dilemma, namely that I had no clue where the alley would take me. Gathering up the last of my rather impressive amount of courage, I took a guess and went left.

My luck held and when I exited I immediately had some clue where I was, which happened to be the street perpendicular to the one on which the store rested. This did leave me with one dilemma, which was the news van in plain sight: I couldn't go back home the way I normally did without having what I'm sure would have been another highly entertaining interview with the lady reporter. Instead I walked the other way down the street and took a left at the next road, intending to just turn back onto the street I normally took a few blocks later.

I've always thought that walking is a funny business. Laugh if you want. I don't care, because it's perfectly true. When I walk I have a habit to think about things, which is not at all bad, so don't get me wrong. Many times I have taken a walk when there's something that I need to think over or puzzle out. However, while I _do_ tend to think about things when I walk, I also have a habit not to think about the things I was at all meaning to think about, if that makes any sense (it probably doesn't).

For instance: one day I might be thinking about my favorite football team (Manchester City, if you're wondering – I'd ask you again not to laugh, but here it might be necessary) and their chances at actually finishing above fourteenth place (unlikely) or the possibility that they might be relegated (likely). So now that I'm thinking, I decide to go for a walk, with the rationale that walks are good for thinking. And so for the first block I'll be thinking about City, no problem, but then my mind will drift. First it'll be about the bloody United and their wanker fans, and then it'll be about the fan in my room that is currently not working, and then it'll be about appliances in general, and so on and so on. By the end of the walk I'll have decided my views on global warming, abortion, and the best type of refrigerators, but I'll have come to no great conclusion about football in general. Although that may just be because of the team itself – you never know what to expect with City.

But I think you get where I'm going. To make a long story short, I was just minding my own business, walking down the street and trying to avoid the news team that had descended upon my store, when my mind wandered. I don't know why it wandered where it did, only that it just did.

Inevitably I began thinking about Kitty Jones and Nat. No prizes if you'd already guessed. I tried to think about other things, but my brain has a mind of its own, no joke. It just kept going back there. For a second I began to wonder if perhaps it was not my brain directing this thought process but perhaps my conscience. Then I remembered that I have no conscience and so disregarded that particular theory.

I couldn't figure out what it was that was troubling me about them. It might have been her rather pitiful expression when I told her I couldn't help. It might have been curiosity. It might have been the secondary smoke from the guy on the sidewalk next to me who was holding a cigarette that did not look legal. I don't know. But the subject really wrapped itself around my brain – there was more to the story that she hadn't told me. I just knew it. Besides, if I went to visit, no one would find out. I was the only one that knew where they were. I could always just pop in, ask a few questions, and be out of there in no time. It was just for entertainment. Nothing harmful. Unlike that dancing reality TV show that's unreasonably popular.

This is the part of the story where you realize that I'm an idiot and should never listen to myself when I get to thinking like this. I'll allow you several moments' time to let this revelation sink in.

And so, like the idiot I am, I went. I didn't even stop for breakfast. Perhaps I should have. Maybe then I would have realized how stupid I was being. I don't like to think about what-ifs and maybes, so naturally I think about them all the time, this one in particular.

I found myself at the thrift store she'd described sooner than I expected. I wasn't exactly familiar with the area, but I knew it well enough to understand her description. The flat complex was easy to find – the large sign out front wasn't at all inconspicuous – but still I hesitated. I mean, it's not like I was chummy with Nat or Kitty or anything. I was suddenly unsure of myself. Don't ask why this was just occurring to me now, because I really can't tell you. Most likely it was because we're coming to a good ending point for this story. However, I then remembered Kitty's desperation when she'd talked to me, and my usual self-confidence returned. I shouldn't feel uncomfortable, I realized. They were the ones begging me to help them out and all. They should be the ones all nervous and fidgety.

And so with my usual well-deserved swagger (probably inherited from the Mancunian side of my family) I walked in the complex and began looking for her flat. Number twenty, she'd said… or was it twenty-one? Oh bother. This was going to be annoying.

I found the two flats in question with relative ease. That didn't help much, though, as I was stuck trying to decide between the two for a good deal of time. Finally I went with number twenty – twenty is an even number, after all, and everyone knows that even numbers are luckier than odd ones – and knocked.

I was immediately informed that someone was home by all of the subsequent racket inside, although this was not particularly encouraging. Soon, though, I could hear voices, a guy's and a girl's, and I thought they might belong to Nat and Kitty. Whoever they were, they were frantic – the guy sounded panicked and the girl sounded like she was doing her best trying to settle him down. Well, that was _definitely_ Nat, and from what I knew of Kitty that could very well be her. Reassured, I relaxed considerably.

I heard someone up against the door (probably the peephole) and then a relieved voice: "Relax, it's only Bartimaeus."

That was Kitty, no doubt. Then another voice, which must've been Nat's: "Any police?"

"I don't see any. I'll just let him in, hide under the sofa just in case."

I think they were trying to be covert in their directions to each other, but it goes without saying that they were not very successful. The door opened and I found myself face-to-face with Kitty Jones, as I had expected.

"Hullo," I greeted her brightly. "Wonderful day. I was thinking about what you said earlier and thought I might drop in for a chat. Nothing major, just trying to kill the time. Why don't –"

"Hurry in," she said, intruding on my introduction. "I don't want anyone to get too suspicious. Technically speaking we're not supposed to be here."

I walked in the flat and she closed the door behind me. "What do you mean by that? I mean, obviously Nat's not supposed to be here, he's supposed to be rotting away in a jail cell somewhere, but I don't see why I can't stop by for a pleasant talk."

"We don't want to connect us, do we?" Kitty replied. She squinted at me apprehensively. "How'd you know we'd be here anyways?"

"Er… you gave me your flat number…"

"Yes, my flat number is twenty-one. This is twenty. It's my neighbor's flat. I'm flat-sitting it, but I'm not supposed to have anyone over here, which is why I didn't want anyone seeing that I'm in here."

"Oh. Well, that's embarrassing."

"You couldn't remember the number?" she asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, well, when you put it that way…" My eyes traveled to the sofa. "Is he really hiding behind there? What if I decided to go to the loo? What would he do then, hope that I don't notice when I trip over him?"

"You heard us," she stated. She looked to the sofa. "Nathaniel, get up."

No such thing happened. "Come on," I prompted, "I'm not going to kill you or anything. At least not with her around as a witness. Watch out later, though."

Slowly a teenager emerged from behind the sofa. Take note of how I say "a teenager" instead of "Nat" or "that pompous little berk." This is because the person that had been hiding behind the sofa looked nothing like Nat. Sure, they were the same height and build, and their facial features were almost exactly alike. But the hair… oh God, the hair.

"Nice," I commented, impressed. "You look exactly like this pop singer I saw on TV yesterday. I don't know if your voice can go as high as his, though. Try it out – maybe I'm wrong."

The Artist Formerly Known as Nathaniel scowled. "Very funny. Like I haven't heard that enough already from her. Trust me, I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't necessary."

"Yes, yes, I know it's very necessary. We all need to have a good laugh once in a while, even in times like these." I held up my hands and made a box with my fingers as if pointing a camera at him. "Ah, just stay there. I want to take a mental snapshot of this and remember it forever."

"Very funny," Nathaniel repeated, pushing his hair to the side self-consciously. "Mock me all you want. I notice that you're here, though, when you told Kitty that you wouldn't come."

Kitty's eyes lit up. "You're going to help us."

"Not so fast," I said breezily. "I'm just here to see what's going on. I never said I'd do anything, and I don't really intend to do anything. If you want to bounce an idea off me or something, sure. But I'm not going out of my way to save Natty boy over here. It's not that I don't feel bad for you – I do – but I really am not looking forward to any jail time in the foreseeable future."

Surprisingly, he just shrugged. "That's fine, I guess. So long as you don't turn me in."

"I have no intentions of doing that, although that isn't to say that you shouldn't be extra nice to me just in case." I plopped down on the sofa and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table. "So. While I'm here, why don't you tell me exactly how you got into this mess? Framed for murder and all."

They looked back and forth to each other for a time. It was interesting – they seemed to be able to talk without actually speaking. That's not necessarily rare, but usually you see it between people that have known each other far longer than they had.

"Okay," Nat finally said. He sat down in a moth-eaten armchair while Kitty sat down in an identical chair next to him. "It all started at that event with Lovelace. When I went to get his autograph, I heard him talking on the phone… threatening someone. Then, just as I was about to move away, I, er, sort of ran into Kitty."

He trailed off. Kitty picked up for him. "The tray I was carrying went flying into Lovelace. Naturally no one was too happy."

"Naturally," I agreed.

"That Monday when Lovelace came into the store, I heard him talking on his phone to the lady he had been threatening. He was going to meet her across the street at Druid's." Nathaniel coughed. "After you left, I followed after him. I began to listen to his conversation –"

"Eavesdrop, you mean."

" – and Kitty saw me and also began to listen," he continued without pausing. "We heard what was going on: this lady, Harknett, had been involved with Lovelace without knowing he was already in a serious relationship. She was threatening to tell his girlfriend, saying that she had a right to know. Kitty left; Lovelace, however, caught me listening to them." He took a deep breath. "Shortly after that I received a call, telling me to take Lovelace's money and be quiet about everything. The man, a bearded man –"

"Mr. Big Hands," I said, nodding. "He visited the store."

"Yes. He came to visit me several times. I did my best to delay. Finally, Kitty convinced me to go to the police, but they just scoffed at me." He grinded his teeth, his hands clenching around the armrests of the chair. "Lovelace is in control of the police department, or at least he has several friends there. I returned home to find my room gone through and that Harknett had been killed: they had obviously framed me. The police came; I fled and went to Kitty's. She hid me here, in her neighbor's flat."

I nodded again. "Yeah, the police came to me last night too."

"That's not all," Kitty stated, her face suddenly very grave.

"Really?" I asked, bemused. "Very well. What else is there?"

They looked at each other once more, their expressions much more serious now. Finally Nat spoke: "Earlier this morning my guardians were killed in a house fire. I am blamed for their deaths."

My mouth formed a little "o."

"Which is impossible," Kitty continued in a strong voice, "seeing as Nathaniel was here with me. In case you needed any further proof."

I shook my head, knowing full well that this was not the time for an inappropriate joke. "I didn't."

"Good."

There was an uncomfortable silence. We all knew where the conversation was leading next, and I don't think any of us were particularly looking forward to it.

"Bartimaeus," Kitty started, "I know that you don't want to get involved, but we need your help. We can't do this by ourselves. Please."

I stared at her unblinkingly for a time. "I'm not going to risk my arse to save you both. I'm sorry. I'm just not that nice of a guy. I might be able to help you in other ways, though. Tell me what you've come up with so far. What your plans are."

"As of yet we've only decided that I should get out of the country," Nat stated, breaking out of his reverie. "Until we can prove my innocence."

"That's a good idea," I said. "You're not going to be able to do anything right now. You need to get him somewhere safe, where they won't find him. I'm familiar with most of the Continent… personally I'd recommend France, Greek, or Italy. I know those places especially well, and the English contingent is large enough that you won't look completely out of place. I'm not saying that I could get you there, but I might be able to help you out finding your way there. I don't know, though."

Kitty smiled. "That's perfect. Thank you."

"Don't get your hopes up. I'm not promising anything."

"Still."

The telephone interrupted what would have surely been a poignant moment. Nat nearly jumped out of his seat; Kitty licked her lips and actually did jump out of her seat, although I think she meant to. She headed over to the phone and kind of stared at it for a bit before picking it up.

"Hello?" Someone said something on the other end and she relaxed considerably. "Oh, hello, Mr. Button. Yes, you just caught me, I came over to check everything out. Yes, everything's going well. Yes, everything's fine." She blushed suddenly. "Yes, I don't have anyone over here at the moment. You know me, Mr. Button. I'm a good girl."

I heard a laugh on the other end. Apparently he was just pushing her buttons. Pun intended. (That was terrible.)

"Goodbye, Mr. Button. I'm glad you called."

Kitty set down the phone and looked at us, face still red.

"Well," I said, grinning, "you're not much for murder but you are becoming quite the liars, aren't you? Just like me."

Nat didn't look too thrilled by the idea of following in my footsteps.

-


	19. Nineteen

Hello, all. Only three more chapters to go after this (we'll end with twenty-two, and even then that's more like an epilogue). If you've been missing our favorite villain, then you'll enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. (Well, that's not entirely accurate, but you know what I mean.)

* * *

Nineteen

-

After Kitty's neighbor's call, no one was too keen to talk. Kitty had found the telephone receiver to be very interesting; Bartimaeus was picking at something on the back of his neck; Nathaniel decided to see if he could bore a hole into the coffee table with his eyes. He was unsuccessful despite his best efforts.

"So," Bartimaeus said after rubbing his skin raw. "What now? I mean, what are you both going to do? Did you have any ideas?"

"Not really," admitted Kitty, sighing. "I mean, we're not in too much of a hurry, but we need to get him somewhere safe before my neighbor returns from his vacation. I have no idea where, though. Which country would you recommend?"

To Nathaniel's surprise, Bartimaeus actually gave the question some thought. "Well, I'd say France first, although I think that's kind of obvious. You're going to have to go to France if you want to get to Italy or Greece. I'm not terribly familiar with France – I've only really been to Paris once or twice – but you can lose yourself there for a while, I think. Not saying that it will be easy. I don't envy you. You'll probably end up sleeping underneath catwalks and taking baths in public fountains. All sorts of horrible stuff."

"So I make my way through France," Nathaniel stated. "What next?"

"Well, it's a bit further away, but I personally recommend Greece, which I am very familiar with. You can go to Athens, where you might be able to find some low-level work, or possibly one of the islands, which would be ideal, I think. I don't know. It's hard to describe everything to you. I've got some atlases and stuff at my flat that I can give to you. You'll need them when you're on the run."

"Oh. Thanks."

"They're all scribbled on. I got bored."

"Trust me, I'll deal with it. They'll be fine."

Kitty cleared her throat loudly, getting both of their attentions. "Not to interrupt this unique male-bonding moment or anything, but I really doubt that Nathaniel wants to spend his life on the run from the cops. Even if he is able to hide away in France or Greece or wherever, that doesn't help him clear his name. How're we going to do that?"

"To be honest with you, no clue." Bartimaeus rubbed his chin in thought. "I mean, he could just wait around for a while and hope that eventually someone realizes what's been going on, that all the evidence doesn't really fit. I don't care how rich or powerful Lovelace is: he can't possibly have the _entire_ police force under his thumb. There has to be someone of even modest intelligence and decent morals in the force who'll find out what's been going on."

"At which point they'll probably be killed," Nathaniel pointed out, all of a sudden feeling very cynical. "Just like Harknett. And the Underwoods."

"Well, hopefully they won't be as stupid as Harknett or you and they'll actually find a way to bring down Lovelace without alerting him of their intentions. It's possible, you know. I see it done in movies all the time."

"Encouraging. I must rent some of these movies. Why don't we just base our entire strategy on cinema?"

"Mm, no, I don't think you're experienced with sniper rifles or high-grade explosives. And you don't have a sharp suit, either. That's really more important than the weapons experience."

"Right. Could we get back on subject, please? I hate those movies." Kitty walked away from the counter and took her seat next to him once more. Nathaniel couldn't help but notice that she looked very tired. "Is that really the best you can think of? Just wait it out? That could take months, years, even. It might not ever happen for all we know. Nathaniel's name might never be cleared."

"Fine," replied Bartimaeus with his usual nonchalance. "If you've got a better idea spit it out."

Kitty didn't.

"I've got one," Nathaniel said, his voice quiet and unsure. They looked at him with mild surprise. "I mean, it may not be any good, but it's something different, at least."

"Anything's preferable to just hiding and praying," Kitty observed. Bartimaeus stuck his tongue out at her.

"Er. Yes, then. Well, I'm not sure if it will work, but possibly… I mean, I don't know…"

The tongue had withdrawn in time for Bartimaeus to roll his eyes and take on an impatient expression. "Get on with it."

"Yes. Right. Well, I was thinking…" He forced a loud cough, and when he began speaking again he made sure to speak up more forcefully and confidently. "What if we told someone else what's going on?"

Bartimaeus stared at him as if he'd grown a set of tentacles on his back. "Er… I thought you were all throwing a hissy fit and saying that we _shouldn't_ do that."

"Not just anyone. I wouldn't want to implicate Kitty, either. It would leave this out."

He looked to her. She nodded. "That's fine with me. Go on."

"Right. As I was saying, what if we told someone? Not just anyone, mind you. Someone that we know would want to get to the truth. Someone with the resources to do it. I don't know who. A politician?"

"No," Bartimaeus interjected, actually looking like he was taking the proposition seriously. "No, not a politician. A journalist. They'll want to get it right. It'll be the biggest story of the past few years. They'll lap it up like an underfed pit bull bred for dog fighting by a major American sports figure."

Nathaniel did not pause to ruminate over this comparison, and from the looks of it neither did Kitty either: they'd both grown used to the odd similes and whatnot by now. "Yes. A journalist. That's perfect. It would be a letter, a letter from me personally. Someone else would have to deliver it, of course. With luck it would get published in a major newspaper. Lovelace would have to be forced to answer to the public then. Someone would find the truth."

"Multiple journalists. You don't want to get screwed over because Lovelace finds out who the journalist you've chosen is and decides to off them too."

"True." Nathaniel absent-mindedly began to twirl one of his bangs in his fingers only to find that it was far too short to really wrap around the knuckle. "So. Multiple journalists. Who should I write?"

Bartimaeus prepared to count a long list of names on his fingers. "Well, let's see, first you'd want to start –"

"Why not everyone?" Kitty said suddenly. "I mean, why not just send a mass e-mail to a bunch of them or something? Every newspaper and magazine we can think of. Not just in London, either – national publications. Hell, international publications. I'm sure there are several papers in America or France that would just gobble this up."

"Good idea," commented Bartimaeus. His face contorted slightly, as it always did when he was in deep thought. "But how exactly would he prove it's actually him and not some crackpot posing as him?"

"Say something about the investigation that only an insider would know," Nathaniel answered. "And send a picture, or make a video. I'm sure we can get our hands on a webcam or something."

Bartimaeus didn't look completely convinced. "Even then, where are you going to send the e-mail from? I don't see a computer around here –"

"It's in his bedroom," said Kitty.

"Well, even so, you could end up leading them straight to your hiding place and Kitty. I don't know how tracing e-mails would work, but according to crime shows it's not that difficult unless you've got some sort of IP mixing thingy. Although to be fair I'm not sure how accurate crime shows are, because according to them every person ever has fingerprints in a big database and they can electronically find perfect matches from a smudge. And they also have really dramatic lighting that just doesn't seem realistic. So take that with a grain of salt."

Nathaniel could not argue this point. From all he could tell, it was perfectly true. There was no way to send the e-mail without placing Kitty and himself in danger. He didn't know about the dramatic lighting. Mrs. Underwood hadn't liked those kinds of shows.

"I've got an idea," Kitty stated, her eyes on Bartimaeus. "He could send it from your store."

Predictably, he scoffed at the notion of it. "Oh yes, then he can just implicate me. Great idea, best I've heard all day, really."

"He doesn't have to implicate you. It could be a break-in."

"Kitty," he sighed, "I'm sure they'll be able to tell it wasn't a break-in. We'll screw up something, I know."

"Not if he actually breaks in."

There was a silence from Bartimaeus. "Well now," he finally remarked, smile spreading on his face, "_that's_ an idea I like."

Nathaniel looked back and forth between the two of them. Surely they were joking. They weren't serious. This was a joke, a stupid joke. "You're joking, right?"

"No," said Kitty.

"Are you crazy, then?"

"A bit," Bartimaeus chipped in before she could respond.

"I know you are, that was a question for her." He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, very suddenly aware of just how little sleep he'd gotten. "I'm not breaking into the store. I'll end up getting caught. I know it."

"Not if you have help."

It was Bartimaeus's turn to look at Kitty as if she was crazy. "What? I thought we agreed I wouldn't help him break in! There's no point in doing it if he's not actually breaking into the store!"

"I didn't say that, did I?" she retorted in a brisk voice. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You'll be at a local bar, talking loudly and being as noticeable as you can. I, on the other hand, will be there to make sure no one sneaks up on him. I really don't think we'll have too much trouble in the dead of night. I doubt the police will actually think he'd be stupid enough to go to the store."

Nathaniel made a disconsolate gesture with his hands. "See? Even you admit it's stupid!"

"That's not what I said." She remained focused on Bartimaeus. "What do you say?"

"It's not a half-bad idea, really," he replied, seemingly indifferent. "I mean, I come out with a pretty foolproof alibi, so that's always good. It's a little risky, yes, but this whole affair's going to be pretty risky. You're just going to have to get used to that."

She appeared to have expected this answer and nodded. "Right. And how exactly would you go about breaking into the store? Provided that you don't leave the back door unlocked."

"The back window's a little loose. You can slip it out quite easily." At their bemused expressions he backed up, showing some small amount of self-consciousness. "What? I've left my keys at home before, and that window's been like that forever. I just haven't gotten around to fixing it yet. It's right near the back door. Who's going to use it?"

"I am, apparently," Nathaniel said, by now resigned to his fate (and not at all excited about it). "Okay. Do you have a webcam or anything?"

"Yeah, there's one on the computer. I haven't used it except for one conference call with some suppliers a while back. I'm not exactly sure how to use it, but I'm sure you can figure it out. You'll have plenty of time."

"What about the alarms?" asked Kitty.

"I'll keep on the one for the door. I'll just 'forget' to set the motion alarm. He should be fine, provided he goes out the way he came in. Although, really, he should leave out through the door and set it off, just so they know exactly where he sent the e-mail from."

She shook her head. "We don't want them knowing where he sent it from."

"Well, yes, but if they do find out, won't it look a little suspicious when he sends it from my store and there's no sign of any alarms going off?" he countered. "Even if I'm not there it'll look like I let him in. If he sets it off it's not like the police will be right on him. He'll have time to get away. Like I said, there's going to be risk involved. That's just how it goes." He turned to Nathaniel. "I hope you're in shape. I think you're going to be doing a lot of running, buddy."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

"That's what I'm here for, after all."

"Enough!" They both were silent: Kitty could be rather intimidating when she chose to be. "So we know what we're going to do. When are we going to do it, though?"

"Not tonight, obviously," said Bartimaeus, "as I'm not working and I doubt that Anne would forget to turn on the alarm. Tomorrow, perhaps. I'll call Anne tonight and get our schedule worked out. I can come over here later and tell you what the plan is. Does that sound good?"

"That sounds fine," Nathaniel assured him, growing tired of the subject. "But should we do it so soon? First shouldn't we at least organize a way for me to get out of the country? I don't want to have to stick around too long after I send out an e-mail that will seriously irritate every police department this side of the English Channel."

"You're right," Bartimaeus replied. He frowned. "Well we'll have to work that out, then. I'll come back later and we'll see which days will work, and then we'll deal with the whole Great Escape issue. Right now I'm hungry and tired, so I think I'm just going to go home. We've chatted long enough."

Kitty looked for a moment like she was going to argue, but Nathaniel held up a hand to stop her. "You're right. You've been here plenty long. Go home, do whatever. We'll talk over everything else while you're gone, and hopefully we'll have something when you return tonight."

"Sounds like a good idea to me. What about you, Jonesy?"

She still did not appear to be fully satisfied with the length of their conversation but she assented anyways. "Fine, that's fine. But do try to return at a sane hour. I don't want to be woken up at one in the morning because you've decided to go get pissed in a pub."

"Oh don't worry, I'll save that for nights when I'm not scheduled to mingle with runaway murder suspects." He checked his watch with his standard air of importance. "Is that all? I've really got to be going. Food to be eaten and all."

"I'm sure," she agreed sarcastically. "Go on. We're not stopping you. Go eat."

"Don't lie. You know you'll miss me."

"Go now or I'll forcibly remove you from the premises."

"Fine, fine, I'm going!"

Nathaniel, however, knew better: with Bartimaeus nothing was ever easy. Sure enough, he diddled around for a little while, inspecting the sofa for dust, checking under books – it seemed that despite all his protests to the contrary he did not really want to leave. That or he was just trying to annoy them. After further thought, Nathaniel decided that the latter was more probable.

"Bartimaeus!"

"What? I'm just checking around. There was a stain on the sofa I wanted to get a look at. Honest."

"You were so eager to leave just a minute ago."

"Was I?" Bartimaeus asked with false bewilderment. Nathaniel's theory had been proven correct. He really was just doing it to annoy them. "I didn't notice."

"Understandable," Kitty replied in an equally false sweet voice. "Perhaps you need to be reminded?"

Even Bartimaeus could not misunderstand this obvious threat. He got the point much more quickly than he had earlier. "Ah, no, I remember now. You're quite right, I do need to go. Toodles, then. I'll be seeing you."

Kitty, ever impatient, just tapped her foot. Finally Bartimaeus turned and went to the door.

"Don't do anything inappropriate while I'm gone," he called out as he began to turn the knob. "I know I should probably be here to baby-sit you both and make sure Kitty doesn't end up pregnant, but I _am_ quite hungry, and I have to say that my own needs, however small, vastly outstrip your own in my mind."

"Clever, Bartimaeus," Kitty said, but she was smiling. "I expected nothing less from you. Goodbye."

"Bye. And farewell to you, Nat – hopefully you won't be in a jail cell the next time I see you."

"Yeah, bye," replied Nathaniel. "Thanks for the sentiment."

"Always. Ta ta."

He left. Nathaniel had just turned to say something to Kitty – what exactly, he'd never quite remember – but in only ten seconds' time the door opened once more and in flew the body of Bartimaeus. He looked quite panicked and slammed and locked the door behind him before collapsing against it, his face red and frantic.

"Damn it all!" He followed this exclamation with several more colorful curse words. Something was off, and for the first time for Nathaniel Bartimaeus seemed genuinely scared.

"What?" asked Kitty, alarmed. "What is it?"

"Lovelace," he breathed, and there was a heavy silence.

"You're joking," Nathaniel said, refusing to believe this statement. "This isn't funny, Bartimaeus. You've gone too far this time."

"I'm not joking, you ignorant little prick!" Bartimaeus cried. He took a deep breath and then continued in a somewhat more calm voice, "He's not alone, either. Brought a big fellow with him. Looked rather like a whale. And your dear friend Mr. Big Hands is here too."

There was the sound of voices outside, and Nathaniel had to admit that the voices did sound rather loud and excited. A fear came over him. What if Bartimaeus wasn't lying? "Fine," he said, speaking as fast as he could. "Why'd you run, then? Wouldn't that kind of alert them to what's going on?"

"Oh, they seemed to recognize me anyways. Well, the bearded one, at least." Bartimaeus had almost returned to normal by now, his breathing still a little ragged and his tone perhaps slightly aggravated yet. "And I'll be damned if they didn't see me run in here."

"You fool!" Kitty hissed. "You've led them right to us!"

"Me?" Bartimaeus replied, voice getting dangerously high. "I came to help, remember? Besides, if I would have run they just would have followed after me and caught me, and at the same time they'd come and get you. They saw which flat I came out of. Trust me, we're very much screwed over. There's no doubt in my mind about that."

As if to illustrate his point, a loud voice Nathaniel did not recognize boomed from behind the door: "If you are in this flat, please come out! We know you're in there, all of you! Come out or we'll come in!"

"They can't come in," Kitty said in a hushed tone, and it was obvious even to Nathaniel that she was clinging to any last hope they had. "You locked it."

"Like that'll stop them. You didn't see this guy, Kitty. He could just huff and puff and blow the door right down if he wanted to. Either that or they could just kick it in."

"Fine, let's try to go out the window, then –"

The voice cut her off. "We will give you three seconds to answer accordingly! Do not try to escape out the back: we have associates there, too."

"Kitty, come on, let's just open it," Nathaniel said, a resigned calm coming over him. This was it. It was all over now. He'd go, just like Harknett.

"No, we can still get to the window –"

"They'll just kill us if we do that," Bartimaeus pointed out. "They've got guns. I'm opening it."

He looked to both of them. Kitty showed no emotion. Nathaniel just bobbed his head to indicate his acquiescence.

"I'm opening it," called out Bartimaeus through the door crack as he undid the lock.

And then he opened it.

Nathaniel saw that Bartimaeus had been right, perhaps even a bit restrained in his description of the unfamiliar accomplice. He looked rather like a large boulder with his massive chest and equally massive legs, but his arms were surprisingly long and also about the size of a small tree trunk each. His face was covered by a patchy beard, considerably shorter than that of the mercenary's, and his eyes were sunken into his face, rather black and glass-like in their appearance. All in all he looked much like a mythological beast. His long ponytail and nose piercing did nothing to lighten up that image.

To his right stood the mercenary, who despite being considerably shorter and thinner than his associate was still equally as intimidating with his cool demeanor and bored expression. Behind him stood Lovelace, perhaps the most terrifying of all of them, staring at the unlikely trio from behind his recently-polished glasses.

"It seems we were right in our deductions, my friends," Lovelace said in his cold, even voice. Nathaniel felt the hairs on the back of his neck go on end. "Very good work. After this is done we shall have a congratulatory glass of champagne, on me."

The large man licked his lips and looked at them in a strange way. Nathaniel had the sick feeling that he was appraising how each of them might taste. He seemed to be particularly interested in Kitty; Nathaniel's muscles tightened instinctively.

"Yes, yes, very good work," Bartimaeus agreed with unusual enthusiasm. He had apparently fully gotten over his previous fear, or was possibly just dealing with it in a different way. "Now, I don't know why you're here exactly, but this guy right here's a wanted murderer, in case you didn't know. I was just about to report him when you showed up. I'm so glad you came when you did – I was sure he might kill me! He's quite mad, you see."

Lovelace observed him with apparent amusement. "What do you say, Verroq?" he said, tilting his head towards the mercenary. "Do you think this man honestly has no clue why we're here and what we are about to do?"

Verroq might have smiled. It was hard to tell. He was quite expressionless on the whole. "Snowball's chance in hell. He obviously knows. I can see it in his eyes."

He stared at Bartimaeus in such a way that Nathaniel did not doubt it for a second. He looked like he was dissecting some kind of animal rather than gazing at a fully alive and unscathed human being.

"Yes, that's what I thought," agreed the politician with a sigh of disappointment. "A let down, that. I do like to keep the count low."

"Go to hell," Kitty growled quite suddenly. Lovelace was taken aback for a moment, and Nathaniel felt himself much inspired: he had the brief urge to run up to Lovelace and punch him in the face.

"Ooh, zest," he said after he'd regained his composure. "I think I like this one. It's entirely too bad she's gone about gallivanting with this one over here –" he pointed to Nathaniel, and the punching urge rose up once more "– now she's implicated as well. Three of them. Well, this whole operation has gotten entirely too messy. My fault. I shouldn't have ever done anything in the first place, and I shouldn't have tried to negotiate. We won't make that mistake again, though. We'll just deal with them and be done with it."

"Going to kill us, then?" Nathaniel snarled, in a tone that was almost taunting. "Just make it nice and tidy? Have your cronies clean the blood off of the carpet? Or will you just set the entire place ablaze, like you did with the Underwoods?"

"The Underwoods were an unfortunate mistake, as well. I had nothing against Arthur or Martha, but I was forced to do what I did. I will not kill another innocent again." He suddenly grinned. "And I _do _like to be original. It would just get dull to do the same thing over and over. Quite unfitting for someone of my genius."

Nathaniel now could not control the anger that was rising up to him; he stepped forward to beat Lovelace, to throttle him, superhuman body guards be damned. Kitty stopped him, though, wrapping her arms around him from behind. He lunged forward once more but her grip was strong. Lovelace again seemed to be caught off-guard, but his smirk returned shortly.

"It appears some of her fieriness has rubbed off on you," he commented disparagingly. "How cute. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet."

"Not really," Bartimaeus replied, picking at his nails. Nathaniel noticed that his fingers were twitching – obviously this nonchalance was not completely genuine. "Romeo and Juliet did die, yes, but that was for completely different reasons. Trust me, I'm the owner of a bookstore. I could think of a more fitting example if you gave me a moment."

"That will not be necessary," Lovelace assured him. He turned back to Nathaniel and Kitty. "Don't be stupid, boy. I'd kill you before you could get within spitting distance of me."

"Do it, then," Nathaniel challenged him, any restraint that had been in his voice gone. It was now an open taunt. "What're you waiting for? Scared that we might actually give you some trouble?"

Lovelace shook off this jibe. "No. This just happens to be an extremely inconvenient place to kill someone. I'm already going to have to get rid of the security tapes just so no one knows I ever came here. Very irksome."

"Where are you going to kill us? Got a special place all reserved for murder?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort. I have a speech later on at a nearby university. After Varroq and Jabor drop me off we will not see each other again. How you are murdered is up to them after that."

There was something about the casualness of Lovelace's speech that threw them all off. He spoke of murder so openly and so freely. Clearly he did not follow the same rules that they did. He played an entirely different game.

And so Nathaniel knew it was time to bend the rules in his own way.

"Fine. That's fair, I suppose." He relaxed in Kitty's grip, although her arms remained around him tightly. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders: he felt her chin against the nape of his neck. "Kill us. I've already done what I needed to, anyways. I was kind of expecting to die, really."

Again Lovelace looked disconcerted, but he did not recover so easily this time. "What do you mean?"

"I've sent a video and e-mail to almost every major publication in England, and a few such publications elsewhere," Nathaniel said in a straight voice, allowing a slight smirk to play at his lips. "I've told them everything. I've offered proof that it is actually me speaking. They know everything. How you killed Harknett, the Underwoods, your affair… everything. You may be in control of the police, but you can't control the media. That's quite impossible, I'm afraid."

Lovelace did not speak for a while. "You're lying," he eventually said, although his voice was unsure.

"All the better that you believe that," Nathaniel replied, shrugging. "In a day's time your life will be ruined and my life will be taken. A fair trade, considering all you've done in the past few weeks, and all the offenses you probably committed at other times in your life. Like I said, I fully expect to die. It's somewhat bothersome, but oh well. It has to happen, I guess. I would ask that you let my two friends go. Your qualm is not with them, and you will be ruined by tomorrow morning anyways. You have no need for them."

"Perhaps," Lovelace assented. "But I don't want to take any unnecessary chances. You never know. They could come in handy. And I assume pretty soon you're about to start begging for your life. I want them to be around to see that."

"I will not beg for my life," Nathaniel said. This was his opportunity. "However, if you do not kill me, perhaps I can undo the damage I have done. Perhaps I can incriminate myself further. Your secret will be hidden forever. Spare us, and I will do what I can. Or you can kill me and be ruined. Either way it works out for me."

Lovelace stared at him quite fiercely, and he thought that the man was trying to bore a hole into his head with his gaze. Finally Lovelace smiled. "Well, I am a businessman, and as a whole businessmen love to gamble. This is no exception. I will kill you – all of you – and then we will see if you truly have done what you have said you have done. I think I'll take my chances. Besides, who knows? Even if you _have_ alerted the press, I could manipulate the story to my purposes. There's not much you can do after you're dead."

Nathaniel opened his mouth to protest, but Bartimaeus shot him a look that clearly said, _Don't,_ and so he didn't. Verroq turned to Lovelace. He looked rather bored. "Shall I take them, Simon?"

"Yes, yes, take the boy and the girl. Jabor can handle the man."

The mercenary strode forward in two quick steps and seized Nathaniel by the wrist quite savagely. Kitty's grip around his shoulders tightened, but soon the mercenary had seized her as well and separated the two with only a small amount of effort. The large man, Jabor, had his meaty hands in a firm grip on Bartimaeus's shoulders; Bartimaeus looked none too pleased about this arrangement.

"Now," said Lovelace, "you will come out with us quietly and quickly. We will not restrain you in public view, but you will not run or we will shoot you. Do not think we will hesitate in doing so, even if others are watching. I will just say we did it in self-defense – you _are_ wanted, you know. Now let's go. We don't have time to dally. I need to be on time for my speech."

Verroq pushed the two of them forward as Jabor did the same with Bartimaeus. Lovelace walked a short distance ahead of them, and Nathaniel's mind raced, desperately trying to think of any way to escape without taking a bullet to the head.

"You're taking us to your car, I suppose?" asked Bartimaeus in a light tone. "I hope it's roomy."

"It is," responded Lovelace. "It's a limo."

Nathaniel was scarcely paying attention: Kitty had caught his gaze and was making frantic gestures with her head. He thought he knew her intent – to push the mercenary down and run suddenly, perhaps behind a column and then out the side gate if they were lucky – but was surprised when he saw Bartimaeus shaking his head at them from his right. It was again clear what the man was saying with his movements: _No._

"I hope you're not thinking of running," Varroq commented with all his characteristic apathy. "I was a bit off in target practice this morning. I was aiming for the legs, but it seemed that I kept hitting some of the more vulnerable extremities."

Nathaniel glanced in Bartimaeus's direction again, and Bartimaeus just shook his head again. "No," he finally said. "I'm not thinking of running."

He turned to Kitty when he said this, as if to tell her, _And neither are you. Trust me. Trust Bartimaeus._

"Good. Because if you did run, I'd have to put my silencer on, and that's such a hassle. I also personally prefer to shoot without it. Shooting someone is always more impressive if there's a loud bang when you do it."

"Quiet, Verroq," Lovelace murmured. "We are not quite out of public earshot."

"Yes, of course, Simon. My mistake."

Lovelace looked around for a time before turning to Jabor. "Where did we park the limo again?"

"I think it was across the street." Jabor nudged Bartimaeus in the general direction with a small amount of his strength: it was only Jabor's grip on Bartimaeus's shoulder that kept him from flying to the ground. "I think."

"Hm, yes, you're right, I see it now. Come."

They followed him to the intersection and then across the street. Nathaniel noticed that Kitty seemed to be trying to get his attention, and when he looked he saw that she was nodding wildly to a nearby building. He shook his head once more: he trusted (was forced to trust) Bartimaeus, and he knew the likelihood of them surviving long enough to even get to the building was miniscule. She looked unconvinced but nodded anyways, and he eased up slightly. It was good to know that she wasn't going to run off and get herself shot in the head. At least not now.

"Here we are," Lovelace announced. The limo was very nice, sleek black with tinted windows that had recently been polished. It was fitting for a king, but no surprises there. "Put them in."

Jabor opened the door and threw Bartimaeus inside, and the mercenary replied in kind with Nathaniel and Kitty. He winced as his knee hit the door handle on the opposite side, and then once more as Kitty landed on his lap with some force.

"Sorry," she muttered as she slipped off onto the seat. He grunted in response and felt his way towards the door handle he had just hit: it was locked.

"I do hope we have three seats in the front," he heard Lovelace muse from outside the car. He could not see through to the front due to a large black glass that separated the driver from the passengers, as he'd often seen in movies – he thought briefly to find the control for the glass, but quickly decided it was quite pointless to do so. "Oh, good, there are. Just making sure."

He felt a thud rattle the car: obviously Jabor had gotten in. There was a much smaller vibration afterwards, most likely the mercenary. A second later Lovelace stuck his head through the doorway, smiling broadly.

"I apologize for how I have treated you, my friends, but it is of the utmost importance. Do not think I am an evil person. Merely a politician. And I need to win this election for the good of all of England." His smile broadened. "Do not think your lives wasted. Because of your sacrifice, my career shall propel onwards, and England will be saved from the incompetence of the current government. As Winston Churchill once put it, 'Never has so much been owed by so many to so few.' Do not think of Death as an adversary; instead, greet it like your closest brother. Perhaps I will be able to think of something to clear your names, maybe even exalt you. I don't know. I will give it some thought."

The disturbing grin still stretched his face. Not for the first time that morning Nathaniel felt a chill run up his back.

"You quote Churchill," Bartimaeus croaked in a hoarse voice. "That's funny… Oscar Wilde once said that, 'A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.'"

"The words of a martyr," Lovelace replied. "I would not know. You will soon, I think."

And with that he closed the door, still smiling.

-


	20. Twenty

Two more chapters to go after this. Sorry for the delay. Again.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Bartimaeus.

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Twenty

-

Soon after Lovelace closed the door the limousine began to lurch forward. The three were silent after the politician's final statement: Nathaniel looked somewhat sick, and Bartimaeus just wore a surly scowl. Kitty, on the other hand, did her best not to panic. She reached for the door handle, but Nathaniel shook his head.

"It's locked," he said, voice hushed and uneven. "I tried when he threw us in here."

She tested it anyways, only to find that what he said was true. "Oh well. It was worth trying, at least."

"Yes."

The car came to a stop – apparently they'd hit traffic. Kitty scooted closer to the front and placed her ear against the glass to listen, but she soon found it was no use. The glass was clearly soundproof.

"Do you think they can hear us?" she asked, pulling her head away and taking her seat once more.

Nathaniel shrugged. "I doubt it. As far as I know it's not like mirrored glass or anything – if we can't hear them they can't hear us. Unless they've got some sort of sound recorder back here."

"Which they probably don't," she agreed. She smiled, but only barely. "I wouldn't put it past Lovelace, though."

"Neither would I. Perhaps it would be best if we lowered our voices. What say you, Bartimaeus?"

He looked somewhat surprised that someone was talking to him. "Er… yeah, that wouldn't be a bad idea. I don't think he has any recorders back here, seeing as he probably sits back here, but why not? I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yes, that makes sense." Nathaniel still did not seem completely convinced, however, and proceeded to glance around the interior of the car suspiciously for the next few minutes. "Just wondering, why did you tell me not to run back before we got in the car?"

"Wasn't it obvious? You were going to get shot, of course." Kitty had to admit that this sounded like a very good argument. She was in no hurry to get shot. "In open spaces like that there's no way Beardface and the orca would've missed you, especially if they're as highly-trained as I think they are. They give me a funny feeling, kind of like déjà vu… I've seen people like them before. Generally they're able to hit a moving target from fifteen feet away with minimal difficulty."

"True, but we're hardly in any better situation now." Nathaniel said this with some irritation in his voice. "I don't like the thought that we're just driving to our deaths."

"You think I do?" retorted Bartimaeus. "But this is an infinitely better situation than we were in a couple of minutes ago, I think."

Kitty tried not to look too flabbergasted. "You do?"

"Yes. We're in much closer quarters now. We actually might have a chance to get a handle on their guns if they do try to shoot us. I mean, if they open the door and just shoot us right then and there we're kind of screwed, but besides that it's a much better situation." Something about his tone indicated to Kitty that he was not telling her his full thoughts on the subject, but he allowed her no time to cut in, instead continuing his thoughts quickly afterwards. "And I assume they might take us to some kind of parking lot when they get us out of the car. If we do decide to slip away there'll be all sorts of cars that we can hide behind. If someone's shooting you I've found it's very handy to have a car between you and the shooter. They make the bullets considerably less lethal."

"Who would have thought?" Nathaniel replied, tone sarcastic but not as aggravated as it had been only moments earlier. "So you're basically saying that whenever they take us out of the car we should run for it."

"Pretty much that's what it boils down to, yeah."

"Sounds like a foolproof plan."

Bartimaeus frowned. "Well, it's got some holes, but unless you've got anything better…"

"We don't," Kitty responded. Nathaniel added nothing to the discussion. "It's the best thing I can think of, and I think you were right about not running before they took us to the car, Bartimaeus. If not for you we both would have bullets in our heads right now."

"Oh, well, you know, I'm just trying to help." Kitty could tell he was considerably appeased, though, which had of course been her intention. "And besides, if they shoot you in public, there's nothing to stop them from doing the same to me. So really I was trying to save my own skin, not yours."

She found that she actually had to try not to laugh. "Yes, yes. Completely selfish. My mistake."

The car came to a sudden stop again. For a second Kitty thought that they had arrived at their destination, but only a minute or two later it began moving again and she settled back into her seat.

"What do you think they'll do with us?" Nathaniel wondered aloud as there was the sound of honking to the side of the car. Through the heavily tinted windows it was hard to tell just what was going on outside.

"Honestly I can't say," said Bartimaeus. "I imagine they'll drop Lovelace off and then take us someplace else to be killed. I don't know."

The car came to another stop, but this time it did not start again. Kitty could hear the engine being shut off and doors in the front opening and shutting: they had arrived at their destination.

Soon the door across from her opened, and she could see Lovelace's sharp black suit in the doorway. Soon his head appeared as well as he craned down to get a better look of them, still smirking.

"Well, it seems it is time for us to say goodbye," he said, sighing dramatically. "So sorry our relationship had to be so short. But I have things to do, as do you. I shall see you at another time."

He stepped back for a split-second before bending back down and looking Nathaniel square in the face.

"By the way, I forgot to tell you just how much I like your new hair color. It really fits your personal style, I think. Very fetching."

With one last sneer he pulled back and disappeared from sight. The door did not immediately close, though, as the mercenary's head now appeared.

"I am escorting Mr. Lovelace inside," he informed them in a cool voice. "Do not try to escape. When I return Jabor and I shall take you somewhere else to finish the job. If you attempt to run away Jabor will shoot you. Know that before you do anything stupid."

He did not wait for a response. The door slammed shut behind him and they were left to themselves. Kitty was suddenly even more intricately aware that her death was quickly approaching, and she could tell that Nathaniel was thinking along the same lines from his fearful shudders next to her. She did not feel scared, however – she felt inexplicably calm, really. There was something about the danger of her current situation that settled her nerves; she doubted that she would ever be able to fully explain it.

Bartimaeus, on the other hand, did not appear to be either scared or calm. Instead he looked rather annoyed.

"Oy! Open up you great big oaf!" He raised his hand and banged it against the glass several times. "Open up!"

"What are you doing?" hissed Nathaniel.

Bartimaeus paid him no mind, instead electing to pound the glass with even greater force. "Come on, open up already!"

To everyone's surprise (with the possible exception of Bartimaeus), the window rolled down. Jabor appeared in the newly formed hole, glaring back at Bartimaeus.

"About time, you great ugly brute," Bartimaeus quite nearly snarled. It was extremely disconcerting to see him suddenly so aggressive. Kitty wondered to herself if perhaps the happy-go-lucky exterior was just that: an exterior. "I've been banging on the window forever."

"I know, I heard you," replied Jabor in an equally uncivil tone. "You were very loud."

"If I was so loud why didn't you answer me earlier?"

Jabor did not appear to have an answer.

"Just what I thought." Bartimaeus leered at the larger man, disrespect and disgust etched onto his face. "I'm bored. Can't we turn on the radio?"

An unsure disposition came over Jabor. "Uh… I don't know. Mr. Lovelace didn't say anything about that."

"Which means that he won't get mad at you if you do," Bartimaeus pointed out.

"I don't know. I guess that's right." Jabor looked somewhat reassured by this. "Fine. But I don't know any stations."

"That's all right, just let me bend over and mess around with it."

And Bartimaeus did just that. The hole turned out to be much larger than Kitty had anticipated, more than enough room for a man to fit in comfortably. Bartimaeus squirmed through it so that his legs were still dangling over the edge. Kitty could see from her vantage point what was going on: Bartimaeus was fiddling with the dial as Jabor watched.

"Let's see, maybe this one," murmured Bartimaeus as a hip-hop song played over the limousine's speakers. "No, definitely not that one. Maybe this…" A classic rock song began playing. "Yeah, maybe this one."

"Here, let me see –"

No sooner had Jabor said it than something happened to make Kitty nearly jump out of her seat. Bartimaeus's body suddenly contorted to the right towards the drivers seat and he grabbed Jabor's arm – his gun arm. It took a second for the bodyguard to realize just what was going on, but when he did he struggled greatly. Bartimaeus slipped his body more into the back of the car to plant his feet on the seat and give himself some leverage, and for a time there was a great tug-of-war. Miraculously the gun did not go off during this fight, although how this happened would remain a mystery to Kitty.

It seemed that Bartimaeus had gotten a good grip on the gun with his left hand, and with his right hand he grabbed Jabor by the neck. Bartimaeus finally won the fight over the gun, and as he grabbed it in his left hand he also placed his left arm over Jabor's neck. He threw all of his weight towards the right side, and Kitty could hear a thud, which she assumed was the sound of Jabor's head hitting the window. Despite herself she moved over to get a better view of the action. By now Jabor had actually managed to place his arms over Bartimaeus's, but the smaller man did not relinquish his grip.

Bartimaeus threw himself and, subsequently, Jabor into the right side again; there was another thud, and Kitty could see Jabor's head bounce off of the window. He repeated the action and this time there was a more staccato sound; the window had cracked. She could feel Nathaniel move over beside her to see what was going on, although neither of them moved to help Bartimaeus. Both were too shocked.

Jabor fought mightily this next time, but Bartimaeus's weight and position was too great: another crack against the window. She could see blood against the broken edges of the window now. Bartimaeus did it again, and there was another crack. He threw himself to the side one final time and the window shattered completely. Jabor groaned and stopped resisting, instead cradling his head in his hands. Bartimaeus let go of the man, but he wasted no time in grabbing the gun and pulling it up to eye-level with his enemy.

"No!" she cried. Bartimaeus threw her a look she couldn't decipher. She noted with some trepidation that he looked perfectly murderous. "Don't… don't kill him. We're not like them."

"He was going to kill us," Bartimaeus stated in an even voice.

Kitty could say nothing, but Bartimaeus seemed to understand. He lowered the gun slightly, and Kitty was about to let out a breath of relief when there was the sound of a gunshot.

Bartimaeus reached down Jabor's body and grabbed something before squirming and pulling his body into the back of the limousine once more. Kitty and Nathaniel were both ghost-white by now, reality having escaped them. Bartimaeus now held another gun in his hand.

"He had this one in his holster the entire time. Idiot." Seeing the looks on their faces, he sighed. "I didn't kill him. I shot him in the shoulder. Here, take this."

He offered them the gun.

"No, we couldn't possibly –"

"I'll take it," said Nathaniel, and he did. Bartimaeus actually might have shot him an appreciative smile. "We don't have time to waste."

"Exactly right. One moment." He shot back through the hole and reached over to the door. There was a clicking sound – the back doors had been unlocked. He pulled himself back through and nodded to them. "Let's go. The other one could return at any time."

He opened the door for them and they followed him out of the car. Nathaniel held the gun in his hands as if it were a delicate vase, and Kitty couldn't help but think that he might accidentally shoot her.

"What now?" Nathaniel asked. He glanced to the gun. "I don't particularly know how to use this."

"It's easy. Make sure the safety's off and pull the trigger. And don't put your hand too far up – you'll get pinched right between your thumb and your index finger when you fire." Bartimaeus held his own gun much more surely. "And I say we go in there –" he tilted his head towards a building "– because it's the only place to go. This is a gated parking lot. I assume that's the university Lovelace is speaking at. We'll have to find a way to escape through there."

"Okay. Let's go."

They began towards the building. As they passed the car, Kitty's head involuntarily craned to look at Jabor. It was a disturbing sight. His face was caked in blood, little bits of glass protruding from his skin like a particularly bad case of acne, and his shirt was soaked red at the shoulder. She felt a wave of unusual nausea come over her, as if she was too sick to vomit and too sick not to.

"I hope you won't think me completely heartless." She leapt up, startled. Bartimaeus was speaking to her in a quiet voice. "It's life or death. He was going to kill us. We can't really afford to be merciful."

"I – I don't think you're heartless," she finally stammered.

"Good. Let's go."

His manner changed to one of almost business-like urgency and detachedness, all traces of emotion over Jabor's injuries vanished. His one comment had done little to ameliorate her feelings at seeing the man's battered face, but she knew it was time to push that from her mind. Nathaniel showed more difficulty in forgetting about the violence in the front seat of the car; he looked nauseous the entire time as they headed for the doorway.

The building was made of dark red bricks of such a shade they appeared blood-stained, which of course only furthered Kitty's anxiety. They ascended the dull gray stairwell, and at the top Bartimaeus wrestled with the door.

"Just – got – to – jimmy it open!" he gasped as he finally succeeded. It swung wide and sideways, beckoning for their entry. They did not hesitate in accepting its invitation.

The interior of the building was perhaps more depressing than the exterior, although that largely had to do with the darkness of the area. Lights were scarce, and Kitty had to squint to even see fifteen feet away from her. The depreciation in eyesight was accompanied by an acuteness in hearing, which made her even more uncomfortable: every squeak of their trainers against the tile floor echoed off the walls, almost like an alarm alerting everyone inside the university of their presence.

"Where are we?" Nathaniel whispered as they stumbled their way down a corridor littered with boxes and tools.

"I think we're somewhere backstage," replied Bartimaeus in a low voice. "I'm surprised we haven't run into any crew yet. Didn't Lovelace mention a speech? I'm just guessing they're having it in their auditorium." He held up his hand right before they reached a corner and glanced back at them, eyes little speckles of light in the darkness. "Got the gun?"

Nathaniel held it up. To Kitty's relief, the safety was still on. "Yes."

"Good. And I've got mine." His eyelids narrowed. "Now, I don't know exactly what to do now. The easiest way out would be the stage, but of course that's where Lovelace is. As far as we know he's still backstage. There's probably a door leading to a side hallway or something around here. It's just a matter of finding it. Of course, there's always that bearded fellow to look out for, we can't forget him –"

As if hearing Bartimaeus's comment, at that point a shaded figure emerged from the corner. He bore a look of surprise that Kitty had not seen on him before in her limited dealings with him. The fact that they had caught him off-guard probably should have inspired her somewhat, but it really just caused more uneasiness for her.

"Well, shit," Bartimaeus said in a perfect deadpan.

"Where's Jabor?" asked the mercenary.

"Your buddy? He's bleeding all over the limo. You should really go clean up. Lovelace will be right mad if it ruins the leather."

"Bleeding," he stated, still seeming to have trouble comprehending the concept.

"Yes. That's what happens when you've got a bunch of glass stuck in your face and a bullet in your shoulder. Pretty gruesome. Not for the kiddies to see."

"I see. That is unfortunate."

The mercenary raised his gun with such precise fluidity that Kitty barely had time to recognize that he had even moved. She flinched just an inch, pulling Nathaniel ever so slightly with her to the left. It was at that moment that there was a click and a burst of air: a bullet had just whizzed past Nathaniel, missing his ear by perhaps half a foot. It hit the wood behind them with a loud crack, and Kitty did not wait for another round before ducking down, pulling Nathaniel with her.

"Damned silencer!" Bartimaeus ducked down also as another bullet splintered the wall. "You two go," he urged them in a quiet voice. "I'll take care of this buffoon."

"But –"

"I'm not going to be so altruistic for long! Use my stupidity to your benefit while you can!" He grabbed a few loose boards and tools from off the ground with one hand and hurled them haphazardly over the box they were hiding behind. There was a grunt from the mercenary's direction. "Now, go!"

Kitty did so immediately, pulling the still-dazed Nathaniel behind her. The mercenary had been hit by the makeshift projectiles and was just recovering as they scurried down the adjacent corridor. He raised his gun – a shot – but they were already gone. She heard Bartimaeus yell something, and she held her breath, waiting for the mercenary to come after them. Apparently Bartimaeus was holding his own, though, and they were able to maneuver their way down this corridor, equally as dark as the last one, in relative peace.

"Come on, I'm not going to carry you there," Kitty breathed as she dragged Nathaniel around a corner. There was more light in this one. They were getting closer to the stage.

"Sorry." Nathaniel's legs began to actually move around a bit, and the weight on her shoulders lessened. "Bartimaeus…"

"Knows what he's doing," she finished, adding to herself, _I think._ "We'll go back for him. We just need to find another way there, a way the mercenary's not expecting."

His answer startled her. "No."

"What? What do you mean? Do you have a better idea? We can't just leave him there!"

"He didn't want us coming back for him," he said. He was walking by himself now, aftershocks from the mercenary's appearance worn off. "You're right. He knows what he's doing. We need to find a way out of here."

"You can't be serious." She paused. "You _are_ serious."

"Yes."

"You realize that we'd pretty much be leaving him to die."

"We'd be leaving ourselves to live," he responded, voice restrained. "Bartimaeus knows how to use a gun. We don't."

"Lovelace's man does," she argued.

"We have no chance against him."

"Neither does Bartimaeus."

Nathaniel looked somewhat troubled by this, but he did not relent. "He didn't tell us to run just to have us come back. He meant it when he said it. You heard him. He was being selfless for once. He knew not all of us could get out, at least not at once. He's taking his chances with the mercenary. You saw what he did to Lovelace's bodyguard. He's far more experienced than we are with these things. I don't know how or why, but he is."

"We're going back," she stated firmly. "I don't care what you think. We're _not letting him die._ We're not."

"I don't want him to die! I just… he'll be fine without us. He'll be fine."

He did not sound very convinced of this himself, however, and so Kitty decided to press more. "C'mon. Let's go. We'll just try to sneak up on them or something. We'll just be extra quiet or something. I don't know. Just… get ready with the gun. We won't take any chances. We'll shoot him on sight."

"Shoot who on sight?"

Kitty turned slowly, pale-faced. A very striking woman was standing before her, eyes alert and suspicious. Flanking her were two very large men.

"Lovelace's girlfriend," muttered Nathaniel. Evidently he had said this too loudly – the woman seemed a little taken aback.

"Who are you?" she – Lovelace's girlfriend (Amanda, if she remembered correctly) – demanded. Kitty groaned inwardly as her eyes traveled to the gun. "Is that a _weapon?"_

The two men moved too fast for either of them to react, reaching forward and grabbing Nathaniel roughly by both arms. One seized the gun from him and returned to Amanda's side. The other kept a tight grip on Nathaniel.

"Were you planning on using this to shoot Simon?" Amanda pressed, pointing to the gun. "Were you trying to assassinate him?"

"No, nothing like that!" Nathaniel wheezed as the man pulled both of his arms behind his back. "I swear it! I can tell you everything, explain everything!"

Amanda considered this for some time. "Hm. Well, you do not appear dangerous. Pat him down," she added. The man did so and removed something from Nathaniel's pocket: a golden locket. Nathaniel regarded it with an odd expression, as if he had completely forgotten about it and was surprised to see it again. "Well, that's hardly dangerous. Very well. Make it quick. This should be entertaining."

He took a short breath and began talking so fast that all of his words began to jumble together. "It all began when I was at Druid's for one of Mr. Lovelace's speeches. I accidentally overheard him talking to someone on the phone."

"Eavesdropped, you mean."

"That's not – oh, yes, fine. I was eavesdropping." He sighed. "I eavesdropped and heard him threatening someone on the phone, a woman. Ms. Harknett."

Kitty thought that Amanda's eyes lit up for a moment, but when she looked again the woman's expression was quite regular. "Go on."

"Later I witnessed a meeting between Mr. Lovelace and this Harknett lady. Apparently she was threatening him, telling him she'd tell about everything."

"About what?"

Nathaniel looked to Kitty. She shrugged, as if saying, _We might as well._

"Well, er, it seemed he had cheated on his girlfriend with her. She didn't know that he was in a relationship at the time and when she found out she thought it unethical."

Amanda's reaction was interesting to watch. She appeared quite calm on the outside, but Kitty could tell she was boiling on the inside. Obviously there was not a lot of trust involved in the lady's relationship with Lovelace. She must have suspected this before. "Really?" she finally said.

"Yes. When he found out that I knew, he threatened me. I called the cops." Nathaniel cleared his throat. "A few days later Harknett was murdered. I was blamed. That night my guardians were killed in a house fire after I fled. Again, I was blamed. Lovelace found me and two of my friends and took us to be killed. We escaped, and now we are here."

There was a long silence as Amanda processed all of this. Eventually she rubbed her temple and looked at Nathaniel wearily, stress evident in her facial expression. "Do you have any proof of this?"

"Er… no." Something must have occurred to him, though, and he squirmed out of the man's grip and ripped the locket from his grasp. "Give me that!" he exclaimed. The man made to grab him again, but Amanda waved him off. Nathaniel began muttering, more to himself than anyone else, "Well, let's see..."

He opened the locket. Kitty could not see what was inside it. Nathaniel, on the other hand, let out a sharp laugh. "Ha! Now there's Checkhov's gun if I've ever seen it."

"What is it?" Amanda pestered him.

"He must have asked Verroq to get rid of it, and he dropped it when he was raiding through my room. Interesting." He held it out for all to see. "There. Have a look."

Inside was a candid photo of a pretty woman – Harknett – being kissed on the side of her lips by a man – Lovelace. She could not begin to think why this picture had been taken, as Lovelace had obviously been in a relationship at the time and did not want his affair to be known, but that reasoning was for another time. Perhaps his relationship with Harknett was more serious than previously implied. Perhaps he was just that much of an idiot.

Amanda stared at it blankly before tearing it from Nathaniel's hands and giving it a closer inspection. She did this for a time before finally stuffing it in her breast pocket and huffing. She looked quite mad by now, but Kitty thought to herself that this was only partially due to Lovelace's betrayal. She must have suspected this for some time, and it must have been a major source of stress. She also probably had many other things on her mind with the campaign that cut even deeper; this only added fuel to the fire.

She looked, Kitty decided, like someone having a mental breakdown.

"Give me that," she said, taking the confiscated gun from the bodyguard. "I'll give it to security at the front of the stage."

"Ms. Cathcart, please –"

"I'll take care of it, don't worry." She was very red in the face now. "I – I'm a bit irritated, I'll admit. I've dedicated the last two years of my life to this campaign, you know. But don't worry. I'm a grown woman. I can handle this responsibly and maturely. I'm not going to go psycho or anything. Don't worry."

The guards looked less sure of this. Kitty silently agreed with them. While the thought of Amanda actually doing anything to Lovelace was somewhat ridiculous, she didn't seem quite in her right mind. She seemed angry (understandably). Stressed (also understandably). Slightly mad (a bit more perplexing, but no doubt related to the anger and stress).

"I think she's snapped," Nathaniel whispered so that the others couldn't hear them, perfectly echoing Kitty's earlier thoughts. "Good. Maybe she'll kill Lovelace for us."

"Nathaniel!"

"Only kidding, I know she won't. Although it _would_ be so much more convenient. It would really save us a lot of time and effort."

Amanda inspected the gun as if in a daze. She didn't appear to be completely with them in the present; she rather seemed to be thinking about something else entirely. Suddenly she jolted to attention, as if realizing that she was holding a firearm in a university (which was, if Kitty remembered correctly, a major offense). She made no indication that she was too worried about this, though, and her knuckled whitened as her fingers squeezed tighter around the gun.

"Well, I'll just take this out to security," she said, a hiccup in her delivery. "No need for you fellows to worry about this anymore. I'll take care of it."

The guards were still not convinced. They apparently knew better than to question her, though, and instead turned their attention to Kitty and Nathaniel. "What about them?"

"Who? Oh." Amanda shrugged. "I don't care. Just keep them here until later. We might want to question them or something. I don't know."

The woman looked over her shoulder towards the stage, and Kitty mimicked her motions. Lovelace was right in the middle of a fiery speech now, not dissimilar from the speech he'd given at Druid's what seemed like ages ago.

"Now, Mr. Schyler here taught me everything I could possibly want to know about business." Kitty recognized an old man behind him that had been at the Druid's speech. "Coming into his care was the best thing that ever happened to me. You could say that he made me what I am today."

This was enough for Amanda. She turned, faced Lovelace, and took a deep breath.

And then Amanda Cathcart walked onto the stage where Simon Lovelace was speaking, nostrils flaring and gun in hand.

-


	21. Twenty One

Sorry this took so long. After this there's one more chapter, mostly an epilogue.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy.

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Chapter Twenty-One

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After all of the obligatory selfless arguing and whatnot, Kitty finally yanked Nat up by the scruff of his collar and made for the next hall. Over the box I could see the mercenary gather himself and point his gun towards them. I recoiled as there was a shot, but it had missed them. They were already running down the next hall.

For a second Mr. Big Hands made to go after them, but then I waved my gun at him in a threatening manner and he seemed to get the point. He shot at me again, just missing my wrist, and I pulled down my hand quickly.

"You can't win this," he called out. "Eventually I'll get you."

I'll admit that I kind of privately agreed. I wasn't going to tell him that, though. My eyes fell to a crowbar at my feet (really, was the tech crew so unprofessional as to leave their tools and equipment _everywhere?)_. You know what they say. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, double-shame on me. (Or something to that general effect.) I wondered if the same trick would work again.

"Come out," he said softly. "If you surrender peacefully I won't have to kill you."

"Seeing as that's your job, I somewhat doubt that," I replied, grabbing the crowbar. "But if you're planning on resigning let me know."

I wound up and tossed the crowbar over the box with all of my force. I didn't check to make sure the trajectory was right – the grunt I heard from Mr. Beard was enough to tell me that it was. Scrambling to my feet, I darted for the same hallway that Nat and Kitty had taken. A silenced shot just barely missed me, and I could hear the mercenary right on my trail.

While they had seemingly gone a fair way down the hall, I did not have time for that luxury. I had two options: hide or find another hall to scamper down. I was not successful in the latter at first but as I moved to squeeze behind a large cabinet I noticed something the two lovebirds had missed: a cramped little corridor leading to the right, quite nearly hidden by all the crap that was lying around. I heard another shot crack at the end of the hallway and wasted no time in taking this new path.

This route was much more confusing than the other one we'd been traversing. While that one had had some semblance of structure and design, this path had several different rooms and halls branching off. I took one going left, which led me to another left and then a dead end. There was a ladder leading to a narrow catwalk here. I couldn't hear the mercenary anywhere behind me, so I decided to climb up to the catwalk, thinking it as good a place to hide as any and silently cursing whoever decided to make the backstage area of a university auditorium so much like a damn maze.

I got to the top and began creeping down the catwalk slowly and stealthily. As I got further down the walkway, I noticed that the railing was more and more well-lit. Obviously I was approaching the stage. Sure enough, when I looked down, I was right above center-stage, out of view of the audience but able to see a good amount of the onstage action. I moved a little further down towards what appeared to be a prop car. Lovelace was just beginning his speech.

"Thank you, thank you," he said over much applause. I couldn't hear him overly well, but I could hear enough to discern what he was saying in that nasal tone of his. "As you have all now heard, my name is Simon Lovelace. I cannot say how pleased I am to be able to speak to you today."

Behind me I thought I could hear faint footsteps in the side room I'd just left. I swore under my breath. The persistent little bastard had found me, it seemed. Just great. Unfortunately, I was so concerned with the man currently trying to murder me than I sort of forgot that I was on a cramped and slippery catwalk, and when I tried to back towards the prop car I slipped and fell right on my arse. There was a loud metal clank. Lovelace didn't seem to notice, and I assumed the crowd didn't either, but you can bet your mother's favorite piece of pottery that my pal Varroq did. Ears like a bat, that one. He probably could have closed his eyes and used echo-location to find me if he'd wanted.

He flew up the ladder with the speed of a squirrel hyped up on special acorn caffeine. I barely had time to duck – well, fall, really – behind the prop car before he'd pointed that damn gun at me again.

"Come out now or I'll shoot," he warned me.

"Yeah, right," I replied back. "We both know you won't shoot. We're far too close to the crowd. Lovelace wouldn't dare let you do anything while he's giving a speech. Three people are easy enough to silence. Three hundred are an entirely different issue."

I could see through the cut-out windows of the car that he was thinking it over. "Very well. I won't shoot. But there are other ways of killing a man, you know. I'm highly trained in most of them."

"No doubt you are. What are you going to do, though? Jujitsu me to death?"

"Mm, good suggestion.'

"My pleasure."

"I could very easily do that," he said. I think he was trying to look menacing at this point. He really didn't need to try, though. The beard and body type kind of did it for him. He just looked like an assassin. Or a lumberjack. "There's nothing you can do to stop me from coming over there and strangling you to death, either. Surrender. You've got no shot. There's no ladder on that side. You're trapped."

I checked this last statement. Unfortunately what the Beard had said was true. I'd come up the only ladder to the catwalk. Brilliant. I could always pull a John Wilkes Booth and jump, but it's rather hard to run from an evil mercenary that's trying to kill you when you've got two broken legs.

"You're wrong about one thing," I finally responded. "I can stop you from coming over here, at least."

"You can?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. I can shoot you." I waved my firearm above me to jog his memory. "Gun, remember?"

"Yes, but then security will find you and detain you anyways." Despite Beardy's cool tone, I don't think he liked the idea of taking a bullet to the chest. He didn't seem quite so chipper as he had earlier in our game of cat-and-mouse. "You'll just go to prison."

"Infinitely better than dying outright in my books. Besides, I've got several connections in the prison system. Loads of friends. It would be more like a vacation for me than anything."

I'll let you decide for yourselves if this was true or not. It'll be interesting to see what you really think of me.

Varroq, for one, didn't look like he believed me. I think this was because he probably had several dozen prison connections himself and knew a little about the prison culture. I'd be damned if he hadn't once been in prison himself. He'd probably torn open the window with those massive hands of his and walked right on out. That or he hid a key in his beard and gave the guards an intimidating glare when they tried to comb it out and check it. I'm not sure which one sounds manlier.

"You won't shoot," he finally said. "You don't have it in you."

"Oh really? You should tell that to your buddy Jabor. As I probably already told you, he's got a face full of glass and a bullet in his shoulder because he thought the same thing."

The mercenary squirmed where he was standing, and so did I, comfortably out of sight behind the car. I'd managed to mostly push that violent outburst from my mind the past few minutes, which wasn't hard seeing as you don't really have time to think about any of that moral crap when you're running for your life. My stomach gave an unpleasant turn, and I wiped my hand on my trouser leg instinctively, forgetting that the blood had probably already dried by now. It was something I had been forced to do, but that didn't mean I was entirely happy about it. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep well for the next several nights.

Of course, that was assuming that I made it to see those several nights, which at this point wasn't really looking like a sure thing. Varroq had gotten over his initial uneasiness about Jabor's fate, and he was eyeing the car with all the usual assassin-like malice.

"Jabor was a fool," he rumbled in a low baritone. Even his voice was manly. "Fortunately, I am not. I see no reason why I cannot simply wait this out until Lovelace is done speaking. You have nowhere to go."

Blast. That again. He really was a nuisance. "Yes, well, you see, that's where this gun comes in." I waved it above the box once more, just to jog his memory. "I could either jump down and break my legs or wait up here and let you break my neck, but I'm really not too excited about either of those. Shooting a hole straight into your heart, however –" I waggled the gun for further emphasis "– seems to be the dominant choice here, has more benefits than the jumping or getting my neck wrung, and it's considerably more dramatic. I'm all about the drama."

I thought this was a very good point, and I think he did, too. He looked around, realized that there was nothing to hide behind, and then just kind of stared at me.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," he stated. I have to give him credit. He didn't even sweat as he said this, and I know on the inside he was scared to death. Although I'm not really sure if he even felt fear, so that's really just an expression. "I do not need you, really. I could let you go on your way and tell Lovelace that I've taken care of you. He'll never be the wiser."

"Unless he sees me on TV getting interviewed after another one of my employees disappears while suspected for murder."

"I would advise you to take at least a brief vacation, also."

"Uh huh." I crossed my arms across my chest in my best _I-don't-believe-a-word-you're-saying_ schoolgirl imitation. "Right. We both know that as soon as we get outside you're just going to shoot me in the head."

"No, I'm a man of my word." He might have smiled. I don't know. It might have just been a trick of the light. "I'll even give you my gun."

Now _this_ I hadn't quite been expecting, but I still wasn't stupid enough to believe it. Please. That's a beginner's mistake. I'm way above that. "You think I honestly believe that's the only gun you've got on you? You, a meticulously prepared, extremely dangerous, and ridiculously well-dressed mercenary? We both know you've got at least one other gun on you, most likely two, one of which is a semi if not a full automatic. And to top it off you've probably got a knife in each sock and a bomb in your shoe. Trust me, I know there's no shortage of ways you can kill me. I've seen all the movies, buddy."

"No doubt you have," he agreed. "Although I assure you many of your assumptions are ridiculous. I don't have any bombs in my shoes. Those are too easily detonated. I've known many good men that have been blown to pieces because of a faulty shoe bomb."

"I'm sure the world mourns their loss greatly," I said. "And you didn't deny the knives. Or the other two guns."

He shrugged and said nothing. I hate it when people do this. I never know what they mean by it. It's always so mysterious.

We were quiet for a while. I wasn't really too keen on shooting him with an non-silenced gun right near a crowd of people, one of whom had ordered my murder just an hour before, and I think he knew this. He didn't move to retreat, at least. Although as I've mentioned prior to this, this might have just been another display of his manliness. Lemme tell you, this guy was tough. He ate nails for breakfast, chainsaws for lunch, and whole habaneros for dinner. Habaneros! Those things are just plain dangerous to eat!

On the bright side, my reluctance to bust a cap up in that joint (as the rappers on MTV always said) meant that we actually got to hear some of the speech. It was just getting to the good part, too.

"Now, Mr. Schyler here taught me everything I could possibly want to know about business," Lovelace was saying. I noticed the old dude that had been at Druid's standing behind him. I don't know how he hadn't heard some of our commotion. We hadn't been exactly quiet. Perhaps he was partially deaf. "Coming into his care was the best thing that ever happened to me. You could say that he made me what I am today."

A little bit of vomit came up in my mouth. Blech. What fake, cheesy sentimental dreck. Even as politicians go, Lovelace was a terrible speaker. For someone who would probably soon be an MP and in under three years the leader of the opposition, his inability to hire a good speechwriter was appalling.

"You may be asking yourselves, just why –" Lovelace stopped dead in his tracks. I had to really stoop my head to the ground to see his face, checking to make sure that Varroq wasn't trying to sneak up behind me (he wasn't: he was watching, too). "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce one of the most important people in my life, Amanda Cathcart!" Scattered applause. Lovelace seemed somewhat harried. This wasn't scripted. "Amanda," he said in a quieter voice, "what is it?"

I've displayed for you many times my ability at reading people. At worst I'm better than any psychiatrist and at best I've got possibly the best intuition of anyone that has ever lived. (Okay, hyperbole there. You got me.) I did my number on this lady, and let me tell you, the results were unlike any I'd ever seen.

She looked like she'd lost it.

It wasn't her clothes. They were still perfectly respectable, if not a bit out of fashion. It wasn't her hair or makeup, either. They were both impeccable. It was her eyes, the way her mouth twitched every few seconds, the odd little shivers she'd have along with the twitches. She looked like she was having a mental breakdown. I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the stresses of running Lovelace's campaign. Perhaps it was a family issue. Perhaps Nat and Kitty had somehow convinced her of Lovelace's infidelity (admittedly unlikely), although even if they had I doubted this particular issue would have been the only straw to break the camel's back – people like her are too tough to let personal injuries destroy them. What _can_ happen, though, is that the personal injury is the catalyst, the _final_ straw that adds to the pressures said person has had placed upon them.

I don't know. She looked like she'd been pushed to the limit, like someone – no need guessing who – had made her do too much.

I sat back and grinned. This was going to be fun.

"You have visitors, Simon," she said simply, as if she wasn't barging in on a large speech and potentially embarrassing him in front of five hundred people. "Two of them."

Well, maybe Nat and Kitty had run into her. They probably hadn't even meant to. Lucky bastards. "That's… thank you, Amanda," said Lovelace. I could tell by his voice that he had come to the same conclusion about her mental health that I had. "But I'm in the middle of this. Perhaps they could wait?"

"Wait? Oh, there's no need for them to wait, Simon. I've already dealt with them."

Then she smiled in a way that completely threw me for a spin. It wasn't a particularly normal smile by any means. It was very creepy, no doubt about that. But it wasn't just insane or crazy or deranged. She looked like someone that _had_ been pushed past her breaking point but still knew what she was doing. She knew she was embarrassing Lovelace, and possibly herself, and she didn't care. She knew he wanted her off the stage, and she had no intentions of leaving. She didn't look just like someone who was stressed or partially mad. She looked positively murderous.

And that was before I noticed the gun in her hand.

"Oh my," breathed the mercenary. I jumped a bit. I'd forgotten he was there. "This isn't good."

"No, it isn't." I gave him a hopeful smile from the side of the prop car. "You know, your employer could possibly be in danger. His bird's gone loony. You should go down there and protect him."

"I don't see any need to do so," he replied. "Protecting him was not my charge. My job is to take care of anyone that could damage his political career."

"Well, you know, his political career could be slightly damaged if he gets shot. It's kind of hard to run for public office when you're dead."

He still appeared unconcerned. Damn. "That's not my problem. I'm not his bodyguard. I'm his personal hit man. I could care less if he gets killed. He's not the only one involved with this business. I'll still get my pay for the old couple and his mistress. If I can't kill any of you three before he dies, that _is_ my problem, but I seriously doubt he's going to get shot. I can just wait this out and then kill you when the speech is done. It's of no consequence to me if he gets publicly embarrassed."

This was a very interesting statement for several reasons. First off, it proved that Varroq was both heartless and also very self-sufficient (and possibly a little self-contradictory), but I could have told you that. Secondly, it told me that Lovelace wasn't the only one involved in this, which I also could have guessed, considering that the police force seemed to be under his control. However, I didn't think that the people he was referring to were the police – there was someone else in on this. And thirdly, the bastard was really patient. He'd obviously done this many times before. This was possibly the most discouraging thing he'd said the entire day.

I decided I didn't really want to talk to Beardy anymore – he was just depressing me – so I turned my attention back to the melodrama with Lovelace and his girl.

"You heard what I said, Simon," she was saying, obviously in response to one of his comments. "I've already dealt with them."

"Them?" he asked. I think he was starting to panic. "Who are they? If you've already dealt with them, then do we really need to talk about this right now?"

"Oh yes, I think we do." She smiled again and gave me some serious chills up my spine. Ugh. "There's two of them. They say they know you. A teenage boy and girl. I doubt either is over eighteen or nineteen. However, the seem to be quite convinced that you've been involved in some shady businesses lately."

Lovelace was sweating now. Coward. "Really? Well, they're very obviously lying. A bad joke. You know how kids can be. We'll have to make sure we notify their parents and see if they can't be picked up and taken home. No worries, dear. I'll take care of everything. Thank you for telling me, though."

"Don't you want to know what they said, Simon?" she asked innocently. Boy, was he in trouble. She was gripping that gun tightly now. "I mean, before you dismiss their story shouldn't you at least hear it?"

He made an odd little strangled noise. I'm fairly certain he'd noticed the gun by now. In either case, security guards were slowly beginning to sneak up behind her, which was made null by the fact that she had started walking forwards.

"Good. I thought you'd see reason." Her voice grew louder and louder now. She was working herself into a nice little rage. "They said that you've been killing people, bribing people, all to keep a secret from the public, from _me_. Do you know what that secret was, Simon?"

The strangled noise again. That or he was saying, "Mehumph?"

"They said that you had a relationship with a woman recently," she continued, nearly shouting. "Which is interesting, seeing as you were in a relationship with _me_ at the time. I know you'd never take me for granted, not when I've done everything for you, worked eighty-hour weeks, sacrificed my own career. However, then they showed me this."

She held out the hand that wasn't holding a gun. A shiny gold locket hung from in her grasp. I thought that I'd been wrong in thinking she hadn't _completely_ lost it and that this locket couldn't be more random, but Lovelace seemed to recognize it and paled even more at the sight of it, so I assumed that perhaps it was of some importance.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked.

Lovelace shook his head like a chastised six-year-old. "No, I can't say that I do."

He was so obviously lying. This was disappointing. If you're a politician, you should at least be able to lie well. It's part of the job description.

"Really?" Her voice was still raised and still confrontational, although I probably didn't need to tell you that. Oh well. "How about now?"

Her fingers climbed over the front of the locket and dug in at the small little crease on the bottom. A second later she had popped it open. From my vantage point way up on the catwalk, I couldn't see what it was, but Lovelace could, and he looked ready to faint. I gave my buddy Varroq a glance – no movement on that front – before returning my focus to the action on the stage. This was just like every poorly-written movie I'd ever seen, but even more unintentionally humorous because it was real. If only I could have taken a photograph of Lovelace's face at that point… well, you can't win them all, as my primary school cricket coach once told me. Of course, he also told me that people only broke bones because they were "mentally weak," so maybe he's not really someone you should listen to about these kinds of things.

Back to the melodrama, though.

"Er…" Lovelace stared at the locket for a while before shaking his head. "No, I still don't recognize it. Sorry. Perhaps you've been mistaken."

The security guards were getting closer to her now, although she was still walking forwards. One had gotten out his gun. This was getting fairly interesting.

"Oh really?" she exclaimed hotly. "Here! Take it, then! Maybe it will jog your memory!" She wound up and threw it with all of her strength at him. He gave a puny cry, twisted his head backwards, and stuck his arms out in front of him. Through mere luck the locket chain landed around one of his arms. "Give it a good look! Maybe you'll remember!"

He opened one of his eyes and looked at the locket before looking to her. He then attempted (unsuccessfully) to play it off and look like he had everything under control, dusting off his trousers and grabbing the locket off of his arm.

"Go on, Simon," said Cathcart in a low voice. "Open it. Give it a look."

"Amanda –"

"Open it!" _Somebody_ was angry. She raised her gun now, pointed it straight between his eyes. Oh boy. "Now!"

At this point one of the guards raised his gun, pointed it towards her, and pulled the trigger to no avail. He stared at it dumbly for a while before realizing either a) it was out of bullets or b) it just didn't work. Then he looked to the other guard, who was clearly unarmed and looked like a university student who was working security because he figured that it be an easy couple of pounds. And of course, of the rest of Lovelace's security staff, one (probably his true bodyguard) was currently indisposed, to put it lightly, and the other one was trying to kill me. Speaking of whom, I checked on Varroq again and saw that he still hadn't moved.

I think by now Lovelace had realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, alone. Besides two unarmed security guards, one of whom looking like he might turn and run at any minute, he had no outside help against his spurned lover, who had a gun. Fun, fun.

"Open it!" she screeched again, waving the gun around recklessly. The gun pointed once towards the catwalk, and I feared for my life momentarily. She didn't look like she would be too bothered if the gun accidentally went off and shot off God-knows-where. "Open it!"

"Fine, I'm opening it!" He very nervously did so. "There. Happy?"

She pointed her gun to the locket. "Look at it. Tell me if you recognize anything."

Lovelace clearly didn't need to look at the locket to see what it contained, but he didn't argue with her – guns can be pretty persuasive when they're pointed at your face. He glanced down at it for a moment, nodded as if he'd seen what he'd expected to see, and looked back to her.

"Remember now?" she asked.

"Amanda –"

"Stop! Do you realize what kind of stress I've been under? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I've just snapped?" No kidding. "Admit it, Simon. You went behind my back the entire time. I gave you my adult life, and you betrayed me. Admit it!"

She waggled the gun again for extra emphasis. I think this was what finally convinced him to just give in.

"Fine, I admit it! I did it! You're right." He did his best to look tormented and apologetic, failing miserably. "I shouldn't have…" He had trouble finding an appropriate euphemism for 'had an affair.' "I should have done what I did," he finished lamely. "I'm sorry."

Something changed in her expression. Maybe this was what she had been waiting for after all. Maybe she was just inexplicably enamored with Lovelace. But she wasn't completely won over just yet. She was still pointing a gun at him, after all.

"Sorry," she stated slowly.

He nodded with all the insincerity of a true businessman. "Yes."

"You didn't seem so sorry when you were running around with this Harknett lady," she replied, voice growing stronger. She was really quite loud – I was some distance away and even my ears were beginning to ache. I felt sorry for Lovelace's ear drums, but only for a moment. "You weren't thinking about me then, were you? Why not, I wonder? How do I know you're not just lying to me now?"

This was a very good point, mainly because Lovelace _was _lying. It was so obvious.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Amanda. You know that."

He was flat-out begging now. I felt ashamed for his sake. Perhaps he should have gotten on his knees and kissed her feet while he was at it. It probably would have done him more good than his pathetic groveling.

While Lovelace was busy ruining his reputation and his bird was busy having a psychotic breakdown, neither noticed one of the security guards slowly creeping towards them (the one that with the useless gun – the other guard looked quite content to stay a safe distance away from the action). He looked like he was going for Cathcart, possibly get her from behind. I could already tell that this wasn't going to end well.

"I don't believe you," she said, trembling visibly. Regardless of what I said just a paragraph ago about Lovelace's cowardice, I wouldn't have been too excited myself if I had been in his position. She was shaking something terrible. She'd probably end up shooting the gun accidentally just from a bad case of the shakes. "You're still lying. Do you know what _really_ gets me mad? The fact that you'd go behind my back is disheartening and infuriating but not surprising. But what you'd do to cover this up – do you think that I hadn't already wondered when I heard about her? Did you think I couldn't connect the dots? How long have you been so corrupt, Simon? I put my love and my career in your hands and you destroyed them both. I believed that you loved me, but you obviously didn't. More disturbingly, I believed that you could lead this country, but you're just a common crook! What if I _hadn't_ found out, Simon? What if I'd gotten you elected just to have you become some sort of despot?"

"Amanda –" The security guard was right behind her now. Lovelace saw him for the first time, made eye contact, and nodded. She didn't seem to notice. "Amanda, trust me. You know me. I would never do any of those things."

"But you would! This is just another example of –"

Several things happened at once. The security guard chose that moment to strike; he leapt towards Cathcart, grabbing one hand with his arm and reaching for the wrist of her gun arm with the other. She reacted instinctively and flinched, which was pretty unfortunate seeing how her finger was on the trigger (a rookie mistake when you're not really intending to shoot anyone). She jerked instinctively, and I think you can guess what happened next.

A shot, a scream, and a splatter. That was the end of Simon Lovelace.

Good riddance.

If the situation had not been quite so dire I might have actually laughed at the looks on the faces of Cathcart and the guard. The guard looked like a boy who'd been caught by his parents with an adult magazine in the sitting room. He definitely wasn't getting a pay raise, that's for sure. Cathcart was harder to read, although possibly more amusing (if taken out of context, of course). Her expression was a combination of disbelief, shame, and shock. I think the best word to describe it would be, "Oops."

I would describe Lovelace's face for you, but that would be somewhat disgusting and possibly very morbid. I don't think either of us really want to get into that. Let's just say that there was a lot of blood and a hole in his forehead. And his eyes staring up blankly… that particular sight still makes me shiver.

The kid in the audience that was screaming finally stopped to take a breath, and the rest of the crowd joined in. There was chaos. The guard seemed to come to his senses and quickly subdued Cathcart, who put up no real resistance. I think she was still too stunned to really function. I understand the emotional duress she was under at this point. Don't you just hate it when you accidentally shoot someone after haphazardly waving a gun at them for several minutes like it was going out of style?

I remembered the mercenary and looked over to him. He looked marginally less surprised than everyone else, which really wasn't that much of a feat seeing as everyone else was currently punching, biting, and running over each other to get to the door as quickly as possible. Also, I think he'd had some experience with these things in his line of business. Not too many emotionally stable people actually order a hit man, after all.

I hesitated before speaking to him. On one hand, I didn't want to remind him that I was still there just in case he rethought that whole murder thing. On the other hand, there was no way I was getting by him without him noticing. Finally I gathered my courage and called out to him.

"Oy! Mercenary!" That got his attention. "You still planning on slitting my throat and all? I'd really love it if you didn't, I've scheduled a haircut for tomorrow morning and it's too late to cancel now."

He gave me a blank look for a second before shaking his head. "I'd forgotten. Hm."

He actually appeared to be thinking it over. Shit.

"Come on," I replied, only a little desperately. "You just gave me that huge speech earlier about why you wouldn't kill me after Lovelace died or whatnot. How you were so confident he wouldn't get shot and all. That last theory went down the drain pretty quickly, so maybe you should just jet. Vamoose. Take your leave."

He stared at me for a while. I tried to initiate a staring contest with him, but I blinked. He was good at this. Real good.

"I suppose you're right," he finally said. My stomach did a little victory dance with my small intestines while my bladder sat in the corner, depressed that no one would ask it to dance (wow, that was a weird metaphor-analogy thing). "I really wasn't expecting him to get shot, you know. I didn't think she'd have the guts to do it." I neglected to mention that she hadn't, really, deciding that it was beside the point. "Oh well. I'll still get my pay for the others. I gain nothing by killing you. I could kill you to prevent you from giving my description to the cops, but there are plenty police forces around the world with my physical description on hand, and Duvall already knows who I am. Besides, I'd never find your two friends, either. You got lucky. Be thankful for that. I'm not doing this because I'm kind. I'm doing this because it's more convenient for me."

"And that's a new suit, you wouldn't want blood on it!" I exclaimed happily. "That was the best piece of logic I've heard all day!"

"Don't celebrate quite yet. I still might get the order to kill you." My grin faded. "Although I doubt that, also. Duvall doesn't know about you, and I'm not really planning on telling him if I can help it. He _does_ know about the boy, however, so tell your friend that I'll be looking for him. I'd advise you not to be around when I come knocking. I won't be so kind the second time around."

With those words he turned his back on me and descended down the ladder. I thought that I should call out something to him, but I couldn't think of anything witty enough. It's tough to meet standards when you set the bar as high as I do.

I waited for a few moments before following after him. The auditorium was still in utter chaos, of course – I think the noise actually shook the ladder as I climbed down it – and I didn't want to stay there any longer than I absolutely had to. I tried to find my way back to where I'd come from, which was easier said than done, unfortunately. I stumbled around for a while before I finally got going in the right direction.

I was saved from another directional issue by the sight of two very red, very familiar faces.

"Bartimaeus!" Nat huffed, Kitty at his side. "You're alive!"

"Yes, funny, isn't it?" I snorted. "You thought I'd bite it back there, didn't you?"

"The mercenary," Kitty cut in. "Where is he?"

"Gone. He up and left after Lovelace got shot in the face. I don't think he liked the blood."

I don't think they took that last sentence seriously.

"He left?" Kitty said incredulously. "But why?"

"Lovelace was the only one that wanted you and me dead." I winked at Nat. "Don't worry, though, Natty boy. From what he said earlier the police chief still wants your head on a silver platter for some reason. You may just see Varroq again!"

Nathaniel looked sick at the thought. Poor guy. "You're not serious."

"I am. Don't worry, though, you should be good for now. He ran off earlier. I don't think he likes big crowds. He assumed that you would be smart enough to run off as soon as possible. He clearly doesn't know you as well as I do."

"Enough about the mercenary," Kitty interrupted. She was always doing that, and it was always quite irritating. "Let's just get out of here before the cops show up."

Nat nodded. "You're right. I don't know a way out, though. Where do you think we should go?"

"Perhaps to a door with a sign saying 'Exit' above it?" I suggested, nodding my head towards the end of the hall. They both looked that way and groaned. "I know, it kind of sucks. That would have saved us a bunch of time if we just would've seen it earlier."

"On the bright side, at least Lovelace is taken care of," commented Nat as we all made for the door.

"Ah, I thought you two had something to do with that!"

And then we did just what the sign said: exited. But then again, as far as anyone else was concerned, we were never there at all.

-


	22. Twenty Two

Okay, so here's the last chapter. A warning: people probably aren't going to like this ending, but this is the ending that fit. There are a lot of things about this fic I'm not fond of, but this ending isn't one of those. There isn't going to be a sequel, either, although the ending somewhat demands one - to be honest, my interest in the Bartimaeus section has completely waned, and I don't see it coming back, although I still love the books.

So, my advice to those who dislike the ending: fill in the blanks yourself. If you spend five minutes thinking about what could have happened next my job is done.

Over a year after I finally finished writing this, I finished editing. (Hahaha, I am slow.) It's been a great time.

Disclaimer: Yeah, not mine.

* * *

Twenty-Two

-

The three were now in a part of London Nathaniel was only vaguely familiar with, and Kitty did not seem any more knowledgeable on the subject than he. Bartimaeus, however, claimed to be a walking, breathing GPS system, and somehow convinced the two of them that it was only a short walk back to Button's flat, and _yes,_ he knew exactly where to go. Roughly eight wrong turns and an hour later they did arrive at the flat complex by some strange miracle.

"Told you I knew exactly where we were," Bartimaeus said, completely straight-faced, as they entered the front gate. "I've got a map in my head, you know. I was born with the gift."

"Exactly," deadpanned Kitty. "That's why we walked around in a circle for thirty minutes."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Hey, I got us here in the end. That's all that matters."

Neither of the teenagers responded, both knowing full well this was one argument they couldn't win. Kitty led the way to the door to number twenty-one and opened it without even pulling out her key.

"This whole time I've been thinking about how I didn't have the opportunity to lock it and how angry Mr. Button would be if anything got stolen," she remarked as they all entered the flat. She closed the door behind them. "Odd. I mean, there I was, sitting in a car with two psychopathic murderers ready to kill me, and I was just thinking about my house-sitting responsibilities."

"I'm not going to lie, that's pretty weird."

"Thanks for the reassurance, Bartimaeus."

Nathaniel smiled and sat down on the sofa, enjoying their light banter. It was nice to actually be able to relax for a second without fearing for his life. Of course, Duvall and the police were still after him, but they weren't nearly as intimidating as Lovelace.

Bartimaeus yawned. "So. What now? I mean, Nat's obviously still wanted, unless the police actually do their job, which they won't. He can't hang around here forever."

"I can rest, at least," Nathaniel replied, feeling very lazy. Bartimaeus looked like he was going to argue this, but he relented, instead content with an apathetic expression. "They're not going to bust down the door right this moment."

They all looked to the door instantly, just in case. It had been that kind of day. Nothing happened.

"Fine," said Bartimaeus. "Turn on the telly, at least. Let's see if they've got anything on the Lovelace murder yet."

It took him some while to find the remote (it was squeezed in between the cushions of the sofa), but when Nathaniel found it he did just that. Sure enough, the news was on – was it _always _on these days? – and he could see the university in the background.

"Jonathan Drawlight reporting here. As you have probably heard on this station for the last forty-five minutes, Simon Lovelace, prominent businessman and possible candidate for Prime Minister, has been shot and killed by his girlfriend Amanda Cathcart while giving a speech right here at this very college. Police are still going through the scene, but Police Chief Henry Duvall had this to say about the murder."

Duvall came on screen. Nathaniel noticed that he looked very tired and very worried. "While this is undoubtedly a tragedy, we don't think there was anything else here besides the fact that Mr. Lovelace's girlfriend just had a complete breakdown. We cannot attest to the validity of her claims onstage, but we do think they were probably false, considering her mental condition at the time. All in all it has been a very sad day for both those who knew Mr. Lovelace and the public. This is a true tragedy, senseless and disturbing in the highest sense."

The reporter off-screen that was interviewing Duvall now spoke. "Mr. Duvall, in the past two days four people of note have been murdered. Do you think this could possibly have any connection to the Julia Harknett case?"

"Oh, none whatsoever," Duvall replied quickly. "Both are tragedies, but we think this was the act of an unstable woman and not our suspect in the Harknett case. While he may not be involved in this murder, we do wish to remind the public to keep an eye out for him, as he is very violent and may possibly be deranged as well."

Bartimaeus let out a low whistle. "Boy, Nat. Somebody still wants you real bad."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You can tell from the way his mouth is twitching when he's talking about you. He's angry that you're still out there. That's why I'm telling you that you should get out of here as soon as you can. This Duvall guy, he's in on this, which you could've guessed, but he's deeper in than you think. The mercenary mentioned him."

"He did?" This was worrisome.

"Yeah. He said that Duvall would probably hire him to take you out. I don't think he likes Duvall much though. He didn't seem too interested in the job."

"Well, that's good," said Nathaniel sarcastically. "At least he'll be unhappy when he kills me."

"Like I said, we need to get you out of here as soon as possible. I think the mercenary expects you to be gone by the time he comes knocking, and let's not disappoint him. He already knows where we are, after all."

Nathaniel sighed and bent forward in his seat on the sofa. He glanced to Kitty, who appeared to be in deep thought. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Bartimaeus is right," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "We need to get you out of here right now. Just because Lovelace is dead doesn't mean you're not wanted any more. If what Bartimaeus says is true, you're still in real danger. Who knows how long it will be before they come to get you?"

He stared into her eyes for a few moments before nodding. "Of course. Yes, you're right. We can't waste any time. I shouldn't even be here right now. We've wasted so long getting back here –"

"Not my fault," interjected Bartimaeus.

"I need to leave now. I don't know where I'd go, but we can't waste any more time. What do you think we should do, Bartimaeus? Where should we start?"

"No clue, but we should get you out of London to start off." Bartimaeus scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I know some people further down south near the Channel. You might be able to stay with one of them for a few days, but if Duvall learns about the connection between you and me that won't be safe for long. If we can just get you out and on the road that'll be good enough for now."

"Good," Nathaniel muttered. "So we basically have no idea what to do. I'll just leave London and see what happens."

"If you've got anything better, I'd love to hear it."

He didn't.

"That's what I thought." Bartimaeus surveyed him for an instant and nodded. "You don't have any clothes, do you?"

"No."

"That's a problem. I've got some old clothes you might be able to wear. They won't fit a stick like you, but they're something. I can pack up some other essentials in a bag while I'm at it. You'll want to travel light."

"Good. Thanks."

"You should leave right now then," Kitty said, turning and addressing Bartimaeus. "We can't afford to take too much time. We at least need to get out of this flat pretty soon, seeing how the mercenary knows that we've been here before."

Bartimaeus's eyes narrowed, as if he'd understood something about Kitty's words that Nathaniel hadn't. "You're thinking about something else. You've got an idea, I hope."

"Kind of." She did not look extremely confident in herself all of a sudden. "I mean, I know someone who's got family out of the country, and I think one of his brothers had trouble once and had to leave."

"Would he be willing to help?" Bartimaeus asked.

"I don't know." She grimaced. "We haven't really talked much lately. He's an old friend. It's worth a try. He won't turn us over to Duvall, at least."

There was a silence as Bartimaeus process his words. "All right," he said finally. "If you're sure. I'll go get the clothes right now. Try to get in contact with this guy."

"I will."

Bartimaeus looked over the both of them before nodding once more and turning towards the door. He opened the door and left without another look back.

Nathaniel looked up to Kitty. "This friend… he's a good friend?"

"He was."

"Do you think he'll actually help?"

"No idea," she said. "He might sympathize, at least. We were very good friends. We've drifted apart, but he's a good person. He might help us."

"Okay," he stated, his mouth feeling very dry. "Make the call."

She took a moment to approach the receiver and pick up the phone. She flinched before dialing in what seemed to be a very familiar number. They waited.

Someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello? Jakob, it's Kitty," she said, barely even pausing for breath. "Yeah, it's been a while. Listen, I know we haven't seen each other recently, and I hate to be a nuisance, but I need to ask a really big favor of you right now."

- - -

After her call to Jakob, Kitty and Nathaniel sat in relative silence, TV muted in the background. The coverage had changed to something about a local school – some book being banned or whatnot – and Kitty watched it with minimal interest. It was odd to think that things were still normal in the rest of the world while her life was pretty much turned upside down.

Nathaniel spoke, tearing her from her thoughts. "I can't believe he said he'd try."

"I can," she replied, although honestly she sort of felt the same. "Like I told you, he's an old friend. He's a good friend. I… haven't done a good job of keeping in touch with him, but he can look past that. He's a good person."

"I can see that." Nathaniel's next words were tentative, as if he wasn't particularly sure he wanted to say them. "Were you two… like that?"

It took her a few seconds to understand his meaning. "Like that? Together? No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "Definitely not. He's just a friend. He's practically like my brother."

Kitty had never before realized how odd the thought of her and Jakob… _like that_… was. Perhaps it was because she'd honestly never thought about it before. It didn't seem strange to her that she hadn't thought about it. It was just how things were.

"Oh." Nathaniel's voice was unnaturally even. "Okay. I was just wondering. That's all."

Neither of them spoke. He was doing a good job of keeping up a rather stoic front, but she could tell something was bothering him from the way his eyes would squint every now and then – she'd noticed over the past few days that he did that whenever he was worried or just contemplating something. She didn't pursue the subject, though, not entirely sure she wanted to discuss whatever it was that was going through his mind.

This uneasy quiet prevailed for the majority of the next twenty minutes. Kitty was just getting herself a glass of water when someone knocked on the door. "It's me, Bartimaeus. Hurry up and open this."

She walked to the door and did so, and he shuffled inside, a rather large backpack in hand. His eyes darted to Nathaniel on the sofa, and he heaved the backpack up and tossed it to the teen, who was caught off-guard and quite nearly knocked over.

"Nice catch," he remarked. "Hands like bricks, that one."

"It's heavy," muttered Nathaniel, picking it up and putting it in his lap. "What's in it?"

"Some of my old clothes, medicine, a few snacks, and a copy of NME if you get bored. There's also some maps and stuff in there just in case, and a list of people and phone numbers if you are in absolute shit. The bare essentials." He looked to Kitty. "Any luck with your friend?"

"He's checking to see if he can do anything." The phone rang, and she sighed. "That's probably him."

She felt both of their eyes on her as she walked over and picked up the phone, and it made her slightly uncomfortable. "Hello?"

"Kitty, it's Jakob." His breath was quick and ragged, and she thought she could hear others in the background. It sounded like he was on a bus. "Listen, I've talked to my dad and my brother. Not everything's been worked out yet, but we can at least get your friend to a safe place for now – it sounded like they could potentially find you out pretty soon. We'll take him somewhere else until we can get everything set up. My dad's talking to my uncle right now about getting him out of the country."

Kitty couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "Hold on, slow down. You mean you can help us?"

"Yes, but we want to act now while the police are busy. We –"

"Jakob, thank you so much. You have no idea how much –"

"Save the thank-you's for later," he said, cutting her off. "I'll be over there in just a few minutes. I don't want to talk about it too much more here, I'm not exactly in a private place. You're in the flat next to yours, right? Ground floor?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'll see you in a second. Bye."

He hung up. She put down the phone and for the first time took a glance over towards Bartimaeus and Nathaniel, who both were looking at her expectantly. "He's going to help us," she said, her throat feeling very sore suddenly. She looked Nathaniel in the eye. "They're still working things out, but they're going to take you to a safe place until they can get everything together."

"And they've done this before," he stated, almost monotonously.

"Yes. With Jakob's brother." Kitty struggled for several seconds to find the right way to express what she meant. "His family… they've had some troubles with the law before. They're not dangerous or anything. They've just had shoddy luck. They're good people, trust me."

"I'll be going to his brother's? The one that had to flee the country?"

"I assume so. I don't know."

"Uh huh." His face was unreadable. "And what was his brother accused of?"

"Treason, I think. Something to do with someone named Tallow. I don't know." She grabbed her glass of water and held it in her hands, if only to have something to do with herself as she spoke. "Trust me, he was innocent. I know their family. I remember when it happened. He didn't do anything. But he wasn't the first person in their family to have trouble with the British government, so I think they kind of expected it. Believe me when I say there's not anyone else that could help us more than they can. They know what they're doing, and above all they're just good people. They're not going to double-cross us."

He stared at her for some time before shrugging his shoulders upward meekly. "If you're sure."

"I am," she said, tone firm and decisive.

Bartimaeus broke the short silence that followed their exchange. "Well, that was a lovely little discussion. I for one think this Jakob guy is great. He's getting you off our hands, isn't he?" He reached rubbed Nathaniel's hair affectionately. Nathaniel squirmed out from under him with an indignant squeak. "Don't be so down, Nat. I've even got a parting gift for you. Besides the backpack, I mean."

Nathaniel sounded skeptical, to say the least. "What?"

"Yeah, I know, I guess I'm just feeling really generous today. My own selflessness kind of disgusts me, honestly." Bartimaeus proceeded to pull out his wallet and protract a few crisp bills from inside it. "Here," he said, offering them to Nathaniel. "Your pay for all the work you've done at the store."

There was a pause during which Nathaniel just gawked at the money disbelievingly. Finally he took it, counting it as if to make sure he was getting paid what he should be. "You've paid me double," he announced after thorough inspection.

"I know. I figure you'll need it where you're going. I hope you've got a wallet."

"I do," replied Nathaniel, a bit guiltily. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very battered wallet that looked older than he was. "I took it from Mr. Underwood before I left."

Bartimaeus positively beamed at this statement. "Something I would have done! Glad to see you're taking after me."

"I'm happy that you, at least, are pleased by my actions." Here he threw an odd look over at Kitty, almost apologetic in nature. "Thank you, Bartimaeus. I do need this. I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank you so much."

"Oh, it's no problem. Besides, when your name is cleared you owe me all the extra money I paid you. That's two weeks' free labor. I do pretty well in this deal, really."

"I should have known there was a catch," said Nathaniel, but he was smiling. He twisted towards Kitty. "How long do you think your friend will be?"

"No clue," she responded. "Be ready to go, though. That's all I can tell you."

There was a succession knocks on the door as if to prove her point. "Hello? It's Jakob. Are you in there, Kitty?"

"Yes," she called as she hurried from the counter. She threw open the door to see Jakob standing outside. He looked about the same as he had the last time she'd seen him – perhaps his hair was longer and his jaw was stouter now, and he had a faint mustache growing in now – but he was still unmistakably Jakob. She grinned. "It's good to see you."

"Same to you," he said, offering her a glimpse of a smile. His eyes scanned over the room, coming to rest on the forms of Bartimaeus and Nathaniel. "Who're they?"

"The old one's a friend who's helped us out and the other one is my friend, Nathaniel. The one I told you about."

"My name's Bartimaeus, and I am not that old, you know." Bartimaeus gave Jakob a small little wave. "Hullo there, nice to meet you. Is she always this blunt?"

Jakob nodded. "Unfortunately."

"I thought so. Pity."

"We don't have time for this," Kitty cut in, running a hand through her hear wearily. "Nathaniel, are you ready to go?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Good," said Jakob. "We need to leave immediately. The sooner the better. Anything else I might know before we go, though?"

Kitty knew him too well to be fooled by this question. "Do you have anything you're unsure about?"

"Do you?" he pressed.

They stared each other down for a short while. Finally she spoke. "No. You can trust Nathaniel. He'll do what needs to be done. And he's innocent. I know that for a fact."

Jakob looked at her, searching her face for something. Apparently he found it quickly, and he nodded. "All right. I believe you. That's all I needed." His gaze turned to Nathaniel. "If you're ready, let's go. We've got a safe place for you to go, but we're not sure how long it will be safe."

"Okay." It was Nathaniel's turn to nod. "I'm ready."

To illustrate the point, he grabbed the bag and stood from the sofa before making his way past Bartimaeus and to the front door. He did not tear his attention from Jakob, not even bothering so much as a glance at Bartimaeus or herself.

"Let's go, then." Jakob suddenly appeared very uncomfortable, as if noticing he was an outsider in a very homogenous group. "Er, I'll step back for a second. Let you say your goodbyes and all. I'll be right out there."

He turned very quickly and took a few quick paces away from the flat. He was still well within earshot, but Kitty understood and appreciated the gesture anyways.

Nathaniel looked just as uneasy as Jakob had as he looked at the two of them. "This is goodbye, then."

"It is," said Bartimaeus. "For now, anyways."

"Yes." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I… I'll find some way to contact you when I get there. Prague, I mean."

"I put my phone number on the list," Bartimaeus stated. Seeing Kitty's expression, he immediately added, "And I'll hurry to tell Kitty as soon as you call. We'll swap numbers when you get there and all."

"Right. Good." He shifted in his stance and put his hands in his pockets. "Good," he repeated. "Well. I should be going. Just… thanks for everything. I know you both didn't have to help. Thanks."

Neither of the two said the obligatory, "You're welcome." It seemed inappropriate to Kitty, and perhaps to Bartimaeus it seemed the same. That or he was just exceptionally lazy. Probably the latter.

"I'll be going, then," he continued. "I'll be back later, when everything's all right and my name is cleared. I'll see you then."

He looked to Kitty. She strained to find her voice. "Yeah. See you then."

"Au revoir," said Bartimaeus.

Nathaniel stood there for a moment before giving her one last piercing look and turning. He walked quickly towards Jakob, who beckoned him towards the exit and allowed Kitty a parting wave which she did not return. She watched them as they walked down the pathway and then to the gate, and then as the gate opened and they disappeared behind it. She stood and witnessed the gate close, perfectly aware that this might be the last time that she ever saw Nathaniel.

- - -

Kitty was just about as somber as you might expect. I was half-expecting for a violin player to jump out from behind us and start playing an equally melancholy tune. She stood at the door for a time before finally shaking her head and turning back inside.

Naturally, I had difficulty finding the right words to say to her. (Don't act so shocked.) "Well," was the word I finally came up with. Such brilliance. Knowing that I was onto something here, I continued, "Yes. Right. Er, is there anything else you'd like to discuss? Now that Nat's gone and all."

Her shoulders were slumped and she had those far-away eyes that you always see in paintings of depressed teenage girls by depressed middle-aged men. She barely looked like she'd heard my statement. In fact, it soon became apparent that she hadn't.

"Hello! Kitty!" Her head snapped towards me, and I sighed. "There we go. Very good. Now, is there anything else we need to talk about before I go?"

It took her a second or two to get her head together. When she did, though, it was very visible – the far-away eyes were gone, replaced by the alert glare I'd come to know – and she looked more like herself again. "No," she finally replied. "I don't think there is. You can go. Just make sure to come by when Nathaniel calls you."

"Will do," I promised with unusual honesty. "I guess this is it, then. I'll see you later."

She stepped aside, allowing me access to the doorway. "Goodbye."

I didn't dawdle. I nodded to her once as I walked at a brisk pace through the doorway and out onto the pathway. She closed the door almost as soon as I had exited the flat, and I immediately began walking to the gate. I opened it and pushed through, and had just closed it when I heard a familiar voice.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Despite my immense courage, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Generally the mercenary had that type of effect on people.

"Hello," I said as I turned to face him, trying to look a lot braver than I felt. "Pleasure seeing you here. I'm afraid you're a bit too late, though. Nat isn't here. He's gone."

The mercenary was not fazed. "Well, I can't say that that's surprising. Unfortunate, but not a shock."

"I assume Duvall's hired you out now," I remarked.

"I usually do not find it favorable to disclose the name of my employer," was his reply. Always a talkative one. Never could get him to shut up.

"Hm. Well, either way, I'm surprised you haven't gone to good old Duvall yet and told him about me and the girl. Told him that we've helped out Nat."

"I don't see how that benefits me," he replied, as cool as the other side of the pillow (as much as I hate to use that simile). "Du – my employer," he said quickly, "would then believe that he no longer needed me, and instead would send his own men to track you. Besides, he would use the fact that he'd found purported accomplices of a wanted criminal to his advantage politically, and if there's one thing I find more annoying than a lost job, it's Henry Duvall taking credit for something he has not rightfully deserved."

He said this with a bitter tone. Obviously he and Duvall had some things to work out.

"So you're not going to kill me or turn me in or whatever?" I stated. "Is that an accurate summary?"

"Well, yes, not now, at least. I _am_ going to be keeping an eye on you, though. I'm still trying to find your friend, so be aware that someone could be watching your every move."

"Okay. Will do." He was an odd duck, this mercenary. It was almost like he wanted me to resist him. This was some kind of game or form of entertainment to him. "I assume you still want to give her a visit."

"Oh yes," he answered. "Don't worry, I do not intend to hurt her, only to find out where your friend is. I try to pick my battles and avoid any unnecessary hassles. You would be wise to do the same."

"Yeah," I said, not really paying much attention anymore. "Well, if that's all, I'll just be getting out of your way. People to see, criminals to help."

He nodded, and I almost felt an odd thing emanating from him: respect. I was probably mistaken, though. "Goodbye."

"I'll see you around."

"No," he stated with a smile, "but I'll see you."

He allowed me no chance to retort to this exceptionally vague yet slightly creepy remark, instead electing to stride to the gate and into the flat complex. I spent a second digesting what he'd just said before shaking my head and turning to the street.

I had a peculiar experience at this point. I don't know what you'd call it. Looking at all of these people walking and driving and cursing and eating – all of these people _living_, really – just washed over me, collapsing into a most particular sense of amazement. Here I was, alive, when I probably should be dead. It was a wonderful feeling. Somewhere innocent people were fleeing from the law, politicians were being bribed, and children were crying and shouting, but that didn't matter. I was alive, truly alive in a way that I hadn't been since my days as a teenager full of music-fueled rebellion and media-fueled contempt. All of London lay at my beck and call, and I did the only thing that truly made sense at the time.

I opened my arms and greeted the city with a smile.

-


End file.
